PC-NRLF 


DE 


± 


AUSTIN    ELLIOT 


HENKY    KINGSLEY, 

AUTHOR    OF    '*  RAVENSHOE,"    ETC. 


B  O 


TICK  NOR     AND     FIELDS. 

1863. 


UNIVERSITY    PRESS: 

WELCH,    BIGELOW,    AND    COMPANY, 

CAMBRIDGE. 


f 12- 


TO   THE 
REVEREND    JOHN    MILL    CHANTER, 

AND 

CHARLOTTE    CHANTER, 


IS    AFFECTIONATELY    DEDICATED 
BY   THEIR  BROTHER, 

THE    AUTHOR, 


AUSTIN    ELLIOT 


CHAPTEE    I. 

IT  so  happened  that,  in  the  early  spring  of  the  year  1789, 
three  young  men,  each  equally  full  of  health,  hope,  honor, 
courage,  and  curiosity,  separated  at  the  gates  of  Christchurch 
College,  Oxford,  to  pursue  divergent  paths  across  that  world, 
which  at  that  time  seemed,  to  those  three,  only  a  sunny  fairy 
land  lying  betwixt  them  and  the  grave,  —  only  some  enchant 
ed  land  full  of  glorious  adventures,  and  they  three  young 
knights  ready  to  achieve  them. 

To  one  of  the  three  —  the  youngest  and  the  most  famous, 
by  name  Jenkinson  —  we  shall  only  allude  incidentally.  With 
regard  to  the  other  two,  George  Hilton  and  JSmes  Elliot,  we 
shall  have  to  be  a  little  more  explicit. 

George  Hilton,  the  handsomer  and  cleverer  of  the  two, 
went  abroad,  and,  having  met  his  friend  Jenkinson  at  the 
storming  of  the  Bastile,  came  home  again  in  September, 
bringing  with  him  a  lovely,  fragile  little  being  of  a  French 
wife,  a  daughter  of  the  Due  de  Mazagan,  who  had  been 
pleased  that  his  daughter  should  marry  this  fine  young  Eng 
lish  merchant,  and  be  out  of  the  way  of  those  troubles,  which 
he  saw  gathering  so  darkly,  and  so  swiftly,  over  the  head  of 
his  devoted  order. 
l 


2  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

^* 

He  could  not  foresee  that  she  would  be  dead  before  Christ 
mas  ;  still  less,  that  in  the  Conciergerie  and  on  the  guillotine, 
he  should  rejoice  that  there  was  one  loving  heart  the  less  to 
mourn  for  him.  But  so  it  was  ;  the  poor  gentle,  happy,  lov 
ing  little  creature  died  in  her  husband's  arms,  almost  before 
that  husband  knew  how  well  he  loved  her.  The  grand  old 
Duke  made  his  last  bow,  when  he  took  precedence  of  his  old 
friend  the  Marquis  de  Varly,  on  the  scaffold,  looked'  at  the 
sovereign  "people  through  an  eye-glass,  shrugged  his  shoulders 
with  infinite  contempt,  and  died.  The  gallant  young  Vicomte 
Tourbillon,  who  should  have  been  duke — George's  dear  friend 
— yielded  to  circumstances,- and  entered  the  Republican  army; 
and  George  Hilton,  disgusted  with  the  world,  from  sheer  want 
of  anything  to  do  or  care  about,  plunged  headlong  into  com 
merce. 

Bringing  apparently  a  keen,  clear  head,  a  reckless  courage, 
and  a  vigilance  which  slept  not  by  day  or  by  night,  to  the 
assistance  of  his  father's  house,  he  tided  that  house  success 
fully  through  those  terrible  revolutionary  years,  and  raised  it 
at  last  to  be  one  of  the  great  commercial  houses  in  England. 
From  very  shortly  after  he  assumed  his  place  as  an  active 
unit  in  the  firm,  his  father  and  his  father's  old  partner  sub 
mitted  to  him; 'and  from  that  time  these  two  terrified  old  men 
found  themselves  dragged  (if  one  may  use  such  an  expression) 
by  the  heels  through  a  seething  whirlpool  of  audacious  specu 
lation,  powerless  and  hopeless,  only  to  emerge  again  with 
wealth  and  credit  such  as  they  had  never  dreamt  of  before 
this  valiant,  gloomy  young  man  had  joined  them.  There 
might  be  terror  on  'Change,  or  panic  in  Lombard  Street;  but, 
though  these  two  might  sit  cowering  in  their  chairs,  fluttering 
papers  which  they  scarcely  understood  in  their  trembling 
fingers,  yet  there  was  always  one  figure  before  them  in  which 
they  felt  forced  to  trust,  —  the  figure  of  George  Hilton,  —  the 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  3 

figure  of  a  tall,  handsome  man  in  dark  clothes,  with  a  set, 
austere  face,  who  rarely  spoke,  into  whose  eyes  they  gazed 
with  a  look  of  awe,  and  a  look  of  supplication  painful  to  wit 
ness.  Always  kind,  he  was  always  undemonstrative ;  and 
they  looked  up  to  him  as  some  god  who  held  their  fate  in  his 
hands. 

Once  he  broke  out.  When  an  old  clerk  came  into  the 
room  where  they  sat,  and,  with  a  face  only  more  ashy  pale 
than  their  own,  told  them  the  terrible  disaster  of  Austerlitz, 
the  two  old  men  fell  to  feebly  wailing ;  but  the  younger,  leap 
ing  from  his  chair,  gave  a  wild  hurrah,  which  made  the  re 
spectable  old  ledgers  on  the  shelves  shake  the  dust  off  their 
leaves  against  him. 

People  began  to  talk.  They  said,  "This  man  married  a 
Frenchwoman.  His  favorite  brother-in-law  has  notoriously 
deserted  the  traditions  of  his  family,  and  become  a  rabid 
Buonapartist.  He  is  a  colonel  in  the  Guards.  This  man, 
Hilton,  is  making  money  in  some  underhand  way  by  means 
of  his  brother-in-law."  It  was  partly  true.  George  Hilton, 
with  a  keen  and  well-judged  confidence  in  French  arms,  had 
advanced  an  immense  sum  shortly  before  this  to  his  brother- 
in-law,  with  which  to  speculate  in  the  French  Funds.  Aus 
terlitz  had  been  won,  the  coalition  broken,  and  the  Hiltons 
had  pocketed  forty  thousand  pounds.  Since  Lord  Loughbor- 
ough  and  Sir  John  Scott  passed  their  Treason  Act  in  1792 
no  man  had  driven  his  coach-and-four  through  it  to  greater 
profit  than  George  Hilton. 

Some  sharp  and  traitorous  trading  went  on  in  those  times ; 
and  we  are  sorry  to  say  that  the  house  of  Hilton  &  Co.  were 
always  looked  upon  as  being  deeply  engaged  in  transactions 
which,  even  by  the  commercial  world  in  those  days,  were  con 
sidered  dangerous  and  odd.  Even  at  that  time,  when  certain 
trades  were  paralyzed,  and  there  were  so  many  needy  mer- 


4  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

V 

chants  ready  to  sacrifice  almost  any  principle  to  keep  them 
selves  afloat,  the  house  of  Hilton  &  Co.,  with  their  enormous 
ly  increasing  wealth,  were  looked  on  askance.  They  always 
seemed  to  have  such  wonderfully  correct  information  from 
abroad.  The  Jews  might  follow  George.  Hilton  about  the 
Exchange  with  bent  body  and  sliding  foot,  to  listen  and  see 
whether  some  priceless  hint  might  not  fall  from  him ;  but  the 
Christians  were  only  distantly  polite  to  him,  although,  when 
he  had  once  been  known  to  take  a  commercial  step,  there  were 
hundreds  eagerly  ready  to  follow  his  example. 

We  have  hardly  to  do  with  the  ways  by  which  his  enormous 
fortune  was  made  :  our  business  is  more  with  what  ultimately 
became  of  it.  There  are  plenty  of  houses,  eminently  respec 
table  now,  whose  books,  from  1790  to  1815,  would  hardly 
stand  a  closer  examination  than  those  of  Hilton  &  Co. 

And  also  the  history  of  the  accumulation  of  this  fortune 
must  be  told,  because,  in  the  mad  and  successful  pursuit  of 
his  wealth,  George  Hilton  had  reached  the  age  of  fifty  years 
before  he  bethought  him  that  there  was  no  one  to  inherit  it. 

The  gold  that  he  had  wallowed  in  for  thirty  years  had  left 
its  dross  upon  him  ;  and  the  George  Hilton  of  1819  was  a 
sadly  different  man  from  the  George  Hilton  of  1789.  The 
sarcastic  young  dandy  had  developed  into  a  cold,  calculating 
man  of  fifty,  —  a  man  who  seldom  spoke  in  the  House,  but 
always  shortly  and  to  the  purpose ;  a  man  who  had  refused 
office,  some  said ;  an  odd  man ;  a  man  no  one  liked  very 
much,  but  a  man  so  careful  in  his  facts  that  when  he  spoke  he 
put  every  one  else,  save  four  or  five,  in  a  flutter ;  a  man  who 
would  contradict  the  king  on  his  throne,  and  had  never  had  a 
genial  smile  or  a  joke  for  any  man  in  the  House,  save  for  one, 
Lord  Hawkesbury.  After  1806  he  laughed  and  joked  no 
more  in  Parliament.  Lord  Hawkesbury  never  forgave  him 
the  Austerlitz  affair  before  mentioned.  He  kept  on  speaking 


AUSTIN   ELLIOT.  5 

terms  with  him  for  a  time ;  but  after  his  removal  into  the 
House  of  Lords,  in  1808,  George  Hilton  found  himself  with 
out  a  friend  in  the  House,  and  only  one  friend  in  the  world, 
—  that  is  to  say,  James  Elliot,  the  third  of  those  we  saw  at 
Christchurch  Gate  in  1789. 

In  1819,  then,  he  married.  The  wife  he  selected  was  a 
Frenchwoman.  She  was  a  cousin  of  his  first  wife's,  and  a 
daughter  of  an  emigre"  count,  Commilfaut,  very  little,  very 
pretty,  and  an  intensely  devout  Huguenot  in  religion.  This 
marriage  was  a  happier  one  than  his  first.  She  was  soon  the 
mother  of  two  children,  Eleanor  and  Robert. 


CHAPTER    II. 

WITH,  perhaps,  less  energy  and  talent  than  his  friend 
George  Hilton,  James  Elliot,  the  second  of  the  two  men  men 
tioned  in  the  first  page  of  this  book,  contrived,  in  after-life,  to 
land  himself  in  a  higher  position  in  the  world  than  did  his 
friend.  His  taste  would  have  led  him  into  political  life,  —  for 
who  could  have  been  at  Christchurch  with  Canning  and  Jen- 
kinson,  and  not  have  been  ambitious  ?  —  but  his  fortune  was 
far  too  meagre  to  allow  him  to  think  of  it.  He  remained  at 
his  college,  living  on  his  studentship  and  his  small  fortune 
very  happily  indeed ;  keeping  up  a  constant  correspondence 
with  the  richer  and  better-born  men  who  had  gone  out  into 
the  world  to  fight  in  the  great  battle  which  was  then  raging. 

So  his  politics  were  confined  to  the  common-room.  But 
sometimes  he  appeared  before  the  world,  and  had  his  say  with 
the  rest.  He  wrote  a  pamphlet  once  which  made  a  sensation ; 
he  found  this  very  charming.  Here  was  a  way  to  make  him- 


6  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

self  heard.  He  wrote  another  pamphlet,  and  then  another. 
They  were  all  good.  His  assumed  signature  began  to  be 
looked  for,  and  people  began  to  ask  who  he  was.  These 
pamphlets  of  his  were  very  humorous,  and  full  of  stinging 
allusions,  which,  we  dare  say,  made  men  laugh  then,  but 
which  now  fall  dead  on  the  ear  of  any  but  a  very  old  man 
indeed.  Some  of  them  have  absurd  titles,  such  as  one  (1801), 
"  Choking  the  Black  Dog  with  Butter  " ;  and  again,  same  date, 
v"  Shall  we  have  the  Doctor's  Boy  or  the  Constable  ? "  By 
which  last  delicate  allusion  to  Lord  Sidmouth  it  appears  — 
not  that  it  is  of  any  great  consequence  —  that  he  was  in  favor 
of  a  vigorous  prosecution  of  the  war,  and  that  his  enthusiasm 
was  slightly  too  strong  for  his'  manners. 

The  art  of  pamphleteering  becomes,  like  most  others,  more 
easy  by  practice.  James  Elliot  got  to  a  great  perfection  in 
the  art.  He  had  considerable  humor,  and  so  his  half-truths 
were  put  forward  under  a  cloud  of  ridicule,  and  before  people 
had  done  laughing,  the  question  had  gone  by.  He  never 
spared  but  one  man,  Mr.  Jenkinson.  Once  this  gentleman 
(developed  into  Lord  Hawkesbury  since  1796)  was  accused 
of  having  written  one  of  these  pamphlets  himself,  but  the  very 
next  one  which  appeared  under  the  same  signature  entirely 
dissipated  that  notion.  Lord  Hawkesbury  came  in  for  his 
share  of  good-humored  railing  abuse  with  the  rest.  It  was 
evident  that  this  man,  this  "  Beta,''  as  he  chose  to  sign  him 
self,  was  a  man  of  great  ability.  Nobody  was  safe  with  him. 
His  principles  wanted  fixing ;  he  had  no  principles  at  present. 
They  must  really  be  fixed.  Such  a  man  was  lost  to  the  public 
business  of  the  country. 

In  1808,  then,  his  old  friend,  Lord  Liverpool,  with  the  full 
consent  of  all  his  colleagues,  offered  place  to  his  old  friend  and 
correspondent  James  Elliot ;  the  place  of  Inspector  of  Shoals 
and  Quicksands,  worth  £1,500  a  year.  And  of  all  the  ap- 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  7 

pointments  made  by  the  good  Lord  Liverpool  during  his  long 
tenure  of  office,  this  was  perhaps  the  best.  It  was  made  in 
quieter  and  less  anxious  times  than  those  which  followed,  — 
in  the  merry  old  war  times,  when  a  man's  friend  was  his 
friend  still,  and  one  knew  one's  friend  from  one's  enemy,  — 
when  one's  heart  could  warm  up  at  thinking  of  dear  old  Jim 
Elliot's  delight  at  getting  this  place,  and  one  still  had  wit  or 
folly  enough  left  in  one  to  put  a  few  lines  of  doggerel  into  the 
postscript  of  the  letter  giving  him  the  offer  of  it,  —  in  the  times 
which  came  before  the  Peace,  and  before  those  weary  fifteen 
years  when  one  sat  and  drove,  or  tried  to  drive,  four  such  ter 
rible  horses  as  Peel,  Wellington,  Huskisson,  and  Canning, 
four-in-hand,  only  to  drop  down -dead  from  sheer  anxiety  and 
over-work  at  the  end  of  it  all.  Peace  be  with  Lord  Liver 
pool's  ashes  !  We  very  strongly  suspect  him  of  having  been  a 
gooc^ind  noble  man. 

The  last  Lord  High  Inspector  of  the  Shoals  and  Quicksands 
was  Admiral  Sir  Foreland  North,  who  died  in  1707.  He 
accumulated  a  fortune  in  that  office,  and  was  made  Lord 
Sands  of  Godwin.  It  was  found  that  he  had  scandalously 
neglected  his  duties,  and  the  peculiar  revenues  of  the  office 
being  found  remunerative,  it  was  put  in  commission,  my  Lords 
of  the  Shoals  and  Quicksands  being  required  to  pay  an  inspec 
tor  so  much  a  year,  and  to  pocket  the  rest  of  +^  revenues 
themselves.  This  was  found  to  work  very  well ;  it  created 
patronage  ;  and  the  Inspector  being  liable  to  forfeiture  of  his 
office  for  neglect,  the  work  was  better  done  than  in  the  old 
times. 

The  revenues  of  the  office  of  Lord  High  Commissioner  of 
the  Shoals  and  Quicksands  were  derived  from  several  sources. 
Heavy  tonnage  dues  were  demanded  from  all  ships  which 
passed  through  the  Needles,  came  within  three  miles  of  Eddy- 
stone  Rock,  passed  St.  Michael's  Mount  without  letting  fly 


8  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

topsail-halliards,  threw  empty  bottles  or  garbage  into  the  sea 
within  three  miles  of  any  one  of  the  Cinque  Ports  (counting 
from  Old  Hythe,  and  including  eight  miles  east  of  Deal), 
passed  through  the  Steat  of  Skye,  and  did  many  other  things 
too  tedious  to  mention.  These  revenues,  though  they  doubt 
less  cost  a  great  deal  to  collect,  paid  in  a  great  deal  of  money. 
The  office  might  sometimes  once  a  year  have  a  grand  battalion 
day  in  the  Arches,  and  might  have  to  spend  several  thousand 
pounds  in  proving  "  that  John  Smith,  of  the  Hope  schooner, 
master  mariner,  was  within  three  miles  of  the  port  of  Sand 
wich,  when,  on  the  day  aforesaid,  he  did  then  and  there,  not 
having  the  fear  of  God  before  his  eyes,  wilfully,  maliciously, 
and  devilishly,  cast  into  the  sea,  sundry,  that  is  to  say,  five 
hundred  glass  bottles,  against  the  peace  of  our  Lord  the  King," 
&c.,  &c. ;  yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  the  revenues  of  the  office 
were,  for  many  years,  a  very  pretty  provision  for  five  lords, 
and  an  inspector  to  do  their  work.  There  were  good  years 
and  bad  years.  Sometimes  John  Smith  would  prove  his  case, 
—  prove  "  that  he  was  a  good  five  miles  off  Sandwich  ;  that, 
being  disguised  in  liquor,  he  had  only  thrown  his  empty 
brandy-bottle  at  his  apprentice's  head,  and  that  it  had  gone 
accidentally  overboard,  and  had  floated  within  the  prescribed 
limits  "  ;  in  which  case,  my  lords  would  take  it  up  to  Chancery, 
and  have  to  pay.  But  the  Inspector  always  got  his  salary ; 
and  my  lords  made  a  pretty  good  thing  of  it  on  the  whole. 

But  after  sixty  years  or  so,  master  mariners  began  to  have 
the  fear  of  God  before  their  eyes,  to  go  round  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  to  let  fly  topsail-halliards  in  the  right  place,  to  keep 
clear  of  the  Eddystone,  to  kick  the  apprentice  into  the  lee- 
scuppers  before  they  threw  the  brandy -bottle  at  him,  —  to 
conform,  in  fact,  more  or  less,  to  all  laws,  human  and  divine  ; 
which  proceedings  had  this  result :  that  the  Lords  of  the 
Shoals  and  Quicksands  were  left  without  money  to  pay  their 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  9 

Inspector.  It  became  necessary  to  supplement  their  revenues 
by  a  parliamentary  grant,  which  was  done.  But  the  parlia 
mentary  grant  was  so  small,  that,  since  1795,  the  position  of  a 
Lord  of  the  Shoals  and  Quicksands  had  been  merely  an  hon 
orary  one.  Parliament  paid  their  Inspector.  Sometimes  they 
got  twenty  pounds  apiece ;  sometimes  they  did  not.  But 
Government  allowed  them  a  yacht,  and  the  Inspector  had  the 
use  of  it. 

When  Mr.  Elliot  took  the  place,  in  1808,  he  found  every 
thing  in  confusion.  There  were  fifty  squabbles  on  hand  with 
the  Lords  of  the  Admiralty  on  the  one  hand,  and  with  the 
Trinity  Board  on  the  other.  He  set  to  work  like  a  young 
giant,  although  he  was  now  forty  years  of  age,  and  brought 
everything  into  order. 

He  had  no  special  knowledge  of  his  subject,  but  he  soon 
knew  more  about  it  than  any  one.  When  a  man  has  learnt 
how  to  learn,  he  can  soon  learn  anything.  The  "  experts  " 
connected  with  his  office,  coasting  skippers,  pilots,  lighthouse- 
keepers,  and  such  people,  came  to  him  with  their  facts,  put 
them  before  him,  and  looked  at  him,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Here 
are  our  facts,  can  you  generalize  from  them  ?  "  They  very 
soon  found  that  he  could.  They  were  perfectly  contented.  It 
was  a  very  good  appointment. 

My  Lords  of  the  Admiralty  were  high,  and  the  Trinity 
brothers  were  mighty  with  him.  There  had  been  "  heats  " 
between  these  two  great  bodies  on  the  one  side,  and  the  Com 
missioners  of  Shoals  and  Quicksands  on  the  other,  in  which 
my  Lords  of  the  Shoals  had  left  their  Inspector  to  bear  the 
brunt.  The  story  of  my  Lords  of  the  Admiralty  having 
threatened  to  fire  into  the  yacht  of  the  Shoals  and  Quicksands, 
on  the  Motherbank,  must  be  untrue,  for  the  Admiralty  yacht 
had  no  gun  on  board.  Therefore,  how  could  they  have  threat 
ened  to  fire  ? 

l* 


10  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

Mr.  Elliot  composed  all  these  difficulties,  and  got  his  office 
into  noble  order.  His  beloved  Lord  Liverpool  used  to  point 
to  him  with  pride  :  "  My  man,  gentlemen." 

But  what  with  soothing  my  Lords  of  the  Admiralty,  and 
doing  battle  with  the  Trinity  House,  for  leave  to  do  their 
work,  it  was  five  years  before  he  thought  of  marrying.  When 
he  did  think  of  it,  there  was  no  doubt  about  the  lady  what 
ever.  He  married  a  certain  Miss  Beverley,  a  lady  of  thirty- 
one,  gentle  and  good,  like  himself;  and  on  his  forty -ninth 
birthday  she  bore  him  a  noble  boy. 


CHAPTER    III. 

IT  is  with  the  fortunes  of  this  boy,  Austin  Elliot,  and  with 
the  fortunes  of  George  Hilton's  little  girl,  Eleanor,  that  we 
have  principally  to  concern  ourselves. 

Mr.  Elliot  had  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  politics  ever  since 
he  was  nineteen,  and  had  known,  and  known  well,  some,  nay 
most,  of  the  leading  men  of  his  time.  He  had  his  grievance, 
his  crotchet,  like  most  other  men,  good  or  bad  ;  and  his  griev 
ance  was  this :  That  he,  James  Elliot,  might  have  succeeded 
in  public  life,  if  he  had  not  been  so  unfortunately  poor.  He 
was  very  likely  right.  No  one  will  ever  know  whether  he 
was  right  or  not ;  the  thought  was  a  little,  carefully  unex 
pressed,  grievance  to  him.  He  never  got  sour  over  it,  he 
never  expressed  it  in  words ;  but  the  thought  that  he  had 
been  only  prevented  from  holding  a  very  high  place  in  the 
world  by  his  poverty,  was  at  times  a  source  of  vexation  to 
him,  more  particularly  whenever  he  saw  a  beggar  on  horse 
back,  or  a  fool  in  a  high  place. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  11 

He  was  poor  no  longer ;  he  had  a  good  place,  his  wife  suc 
ceeded  to  a  very  good  fortune,  and  his  boy,  Austin,  was  grow 
ing  to  be  one  of  the  handsomest,  cleverest,  bravest  lads  ever 
seen,  —  a  boy  who  at  ten  years  old  showed,  as  his  father 
thought,  most  singular  and  precocious  talent. 

At  this  time,  when  Austin  was  ten  years  old,  and  when 
there  was  no  doubt  of  his  being  a  very  clever  boy  of  his  age, 
Mr.  Elliot  took  the  great  resolution  of  his  life.  That  boy 
should  be  educated  as  a  statesman.  "That  boy  should  be 
prime  —  Hush  !  don't  let  us  talk  nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Elliot 
to  himself,  with  a  radiant  smile,  as  he  sat  one  night  over  the 
fire,  and  saw  various  things  in  the  hot  coals. 

The  idea  was  rather  a  grand  one.  Mr.  Elliot's  creed  was, 
that  statesmanship  was  a  trade,  and  that  a  man  must  serve  his 
apprenticeship  to  that  trade  as  to  any  other.  A  man  should 
be  trained  to  politics  early,  if  he  was  going  to  'succeed.  Look 
at  Pitt  the  younger.  (He  could  not  have  read  Lord  Macau- 
lay's  "  Life  of  Pitt " ;  it  would  have  killed  him.  Lord  Ma- 
caulay's  atrocious  suggestion,  that  Pitt  was  not  the  most  sub 
limely  wise  of  the  human  race,  would  have  cut  the  ground 
from  under  his  feet.)  Yes,  a  statesman  must  be  trained  ;  of 
that  there  was  not  the  least  doubt  in  the  world. 

And  he,  James  Elliot,  would  train  and  educate  one.  His 
own  boy.  If  he,  with  his  intricate  knowledge  of  every  politi 
cal  twist  and  turn  for  forty  years,  could  not  do  that,  who  could  ? 
And  see  the  material  he  had  to  work  on ;  was  there  ever  such 
a  boy  ?  "  Never,"  said  Mr.  Elliot ;  "  Seldom,"  say  we.  He 
certainly  was  a  boy  of  the  very  highest  promise,  and  the  man 
who  doubted  that  Mr.  Elliot  would  succeed  in  making  a  lead 
ing  statesman  of  him  must  have  been  a  foolish  person.  It  is 
no  use  for  that  man  to  say  that  Mr.  Elliot  did  not  succeed. 
By  all  rules  he  should  have  succeeded,  therefore  the  charge 
of  folly  stands. 


12  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

So  Mr.  Elliot  was  going  to  educate  his  son  for  a  statesman. 
But  how  ? 

This  was  the  most  delightful  problem.  The  thought  of  it 
made  Mr.  Elliot's  good  face  glow  with  happiness.  Here  was  a 
beautiful  soul,  a  noble  intellect,  ready  to  receive  any  impression 
whatever.  Mr.  Elliot  worked  at  his  task  with  a  will,  but  he 
perhaps  began  it  a  little  too  early.  The  young  ambition  must 
be  excited  by  the  recital  of  noble  deeds,  and  so  little  Austin 
heard  many  a  long  story  of  great  debates,  grand  political  tricks, 
and  so  on,  which  were  far  from  interesting.  At  the  same  time, 
Mr.  Elliot  was  very  furious  with  the  conduct  of  a  certain 
great  statesman  on  the  Catholic  question,  and  found  it  rather 
pleasant  to  denounce  him  to  the  wondering  Austin,  who,  at 
ten  years  old,  had -acquired  a  distinct  idea  that  Parliament 
was  a  place  something  like  school :  and  that  Sir  Robert  Peel 
was  a  traitor  many  degrees  worse  than  Guy  Fawkes ;  had  a 
distinct  belief,  indeed,  that,  when  every  one  had  their  due,  the 
right  honorable  gentleman  would  be  carried  about  on  a  chair, 
with  his  boots  on  hindside  before,  and  all  the  straw  coming  out 
at  his  knees.  » 

When  Austin  was  ten  years  old,  his  mother  died,  and  he 
was  left  more  exclusively  to  his  father's  care.  And  then  these 
two  contracted  a  strong  personal  affection  for  one  another, 
which  lasted  to  the  very  end,  and  which  was  never  clouded 
for  one  instant.  It  was  well  for  Austin  to  remember  that 
hereafter;  well  to  remember  that  he  had  never  cast  one 
shadow  on  his  father's  kind,  gentle  face. 

This  boy  Austin  grew  so  rapidly  in  both  moral  and  physical 
beauty,  that  the  absurd  chimerical  plans  of  his  father  seemed 
to  become,  year  by  year,  more  probable  of  fulfilment,  and  his 
old  friends  began  to  leave  laughing  at  him  and  to  confine 
themselves  to  shaking  their  heads. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  boy  was  not  perfect,  but 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  13 

really  he  was  one  of  the  finest  and  noblest  boys  ever  seen. 
He  made  a ,  great  success  everywhere.  Possibly  it  would  be 
better,  instead  of  cataloguing  his  various  perfections,  to  ask 
you  to  think  of  the  handsomest  and  most  amiable  boy  you 
ever  knew,  and  call  him  Austin  Elliot.  You  will  know  him 
as  a  man ;  let  us  skip  his  psedeia. 

One  of  Austin's  earliest  recollections  was  that  of  going  to 
play  with  Eleanor  and  Robert  Hilton ;  for,  after  Lord  Liver 
pool's  death,  James  Elliot  resumed  his  intimacy  with  his  old 
friend  George  Hilton  once  more.  He  had  always  kept  up  his 
acquaintance  with  him,  but  it  had  not  been  very  close  for 
many  years.  Lord  Liverpool  had  never  forgotten  the  affair  of 
the  French  funds.  It  was  the  sort  of  thing  that  he  could  not 
forget ;  and,  indeed,  it  is  not  a  pleasant  subject  to  dwell  on. 
James  Elliot  never  mentioned  George  Hilton's  name  before 
him,  but  he  would  not  throw  his  old  friend  entirely  overboard. 
And  after  Liverpool  and  Canning  died,  with  the  harness  on 
their  backs,  the  world  was  very  lonely  to  him,  and  he  once 
more  grew  intimate  with  his  old  friend,  whom  he  had  always 
tried  to  defend,  even  against  his  own  conscience. 

Eleanor  Hilton  was  not,  as  a  child,  beautiful,  or  even  pretty. 
At  first,  lier  features  were  too  square  and  prononce  ;  but,  from 
the  very  first,  she  was  as  gentle,  good,  and  sensible  as  a  child 
might  be.  Robert,  on  the  other  hand,  was  peevish  and  some 
what  violent.  He  had,  also,  a  strange,  wayward  mendacity, 
—  at  times  refusing  to  tell  a  lie  to  save  himself  from  punish 
ment,  at  another  lying  without  an  object.  A  still  more  fatal 
Aace  had  not  hitherto  shown  itself,  but  wras  developed  after 
wards. 

When  Eleanor  was  twelve  and  Robert  ten,  their  mother 
died ;  and,  nearly  at  the  same  time,  Austin  Elliot  went  to 
Eton,  and  Robert  was  left  with  Eleanor  to  the  care  of  a 
governess.  Had  old  Hilton  known  as  much  about  the  boy  as 


14  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

the  governess  and  Eleanor,  he  would  never  have,  in  all  proba 
bility,  sent  the  boy  to  Eton ;  but  so  it  was.  He  followed 
Austin  to  Eton  after  two  years ;  and  we  need  hardly  say, 
after  the  character  we  have  before  given  to  Austin,  that  he 
was  affectionately  kind  to  his  old  playfellow,  and  did  all  for 
him  he  could.  But  Robert  soon  began  to  go  wrong :  he  was 
always  in  trouble.  Nothing  serious,  however,  took  place  till 
after  several  months. 

There  came  to  Eton  the  very  same  half,  and  to  the  very 
same  house  as  Austin,  a  certain  Lord  Charles  Barty,  of  the 
same  age  as  Austin,  and  by  no  means  unlike  him  in  person 
and  manners.  In  a  very  short  time,  a  great  boy-friendship 
sprang  up  between  the  two.  In  the  very  first  letter  he  wrote 
to  Eleanor  his  new  friend  was  mentioned,  in  most  enthusiastic 
terms ;  and  his  intimacy  with  this  friend  seemed  to  increase 
as  it  went  on.  It  is  useless  to  describe  Lord  Charles  Barty  as 
a  boy,  for  we  shall  see  him  hereafter  in  manhood,  in  far  more 
terrible  places  than  the  old  playing-fields,  or  the  Brocas  or 
Surly,  or  any  of  those  places  one  hears  Eton  men  talking 
about ;  nevertheless,  it  is  necessary  to  tell  you  that,  like  Aus 
tin,  he  was  a  noble  and  manly  fellow,  and  that  he  was  as 
worthy  of  Austin's  honest  love  as  Austin  was  of  his. 

When  Robert  Hilton  appeared,  after  two  years  of  friend 
ship  between  these  two,  whether  it  was  through  jealousy,  or 
through  mistrust,  or  what,  it  is  impossible  to  say,  but  Lord 
Charles  Barty  took  a  violent  dislike  to  him.  To  obviate  this, 
and  to  interest  his  friend  in  poor  Robert  Hilton,  Austin  told 
him  what  he  had  not  very  long  known  for  himself,  that  he 
was  in  love  with  Eleanor  Hilton,  and  that  this  was  her 
brother. 

All  the  chivalrjwin  Charles  Barty's  heart  fired  up  atjthis. 
One  sharp  pang  of  jeajousy  shot  through  him  when  Austin 
told  him  that  there  was  one  in  the  world  preferred  to  himself, 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  15 

but  it  was  instantly  smothered  and  killed.  He  would  have 
liked  a  few  more  years  of  his  friend's  undivided  love,  but  it 
was  not  to  be ;  Austin  was  in  love,  fiancee.  Mrs.  Austin's 
brother  must  be  taken  up,  whatever  might  be  his  faults. 

It  is  no  use  trying  to  laugh  at  all  this,  by  saying  that  Lord 
Charles  Barty  and  Austin  were  neither  of  them  fifteen.  They 
were  quite  as  much  in  earnest,  if  not  more  so,  than  if  they  had 
been  five-and-twenty.  Lord  Charles  took  up  Robert  Hilton 
and  patronized  him-and  was  affectionate  to  him  and  fought  his 
battles  for  him  to  the  death,  but  all  in  a  high  and  mighty  man 
ner,  and  under  protest. 

But  the  catastrophe  came.  One  day,  while  Austin  and 
Charles  Barty  were  out  at  cricket,  or  what  not,  a  boy,  at 
home  in  disgrace,  came  into  Lord  Charles's  room  and  found 
Robert  Hilton  at  his  desk.  He  seized  him  and  raised  an 
alarm.  The  master  was  fetched,  and  the  wretched  boy's 
boxes  were  searched.  Everything  which  had  been  missed  in 
the  house  for  a  long  time  was  found  there.  The  habit  which 
the  governess  and  Eleanor  had  noticed  in  him,  and  which  they 
dared  not  mention  to  his  father,  was  confirmed  with  a  ven 
geance.  The  lad  was  a  thief !  When  Austin  and  Lord 
Charles  came  innocently  home,  laughing,  they  found  the  whole 
mine  sprung  under  their  feet.  Either  one  of  them  would  have 
given  their  right  hands  to  save  the  lad,  whom  neither  liked, 
but  it  was  too  late. 

He  was  so  very,  very  young,  they  pleaded  for  him.  Austin 
and  Lord  Charles  went  personally  round  to  the  other  boys 
whose  things  had  been  stolen  and  begged  their  forbearance. 
He  was  so  very,  very  young.  I  need  not  say  what  English 
boys  did  under  those  circumstances.  There  was  no  scandal : 
he  was  sent  home. 

So  it  cam*  about  that  George  Hilton's  inordinate  and 
somewhat  unprincipled  love  of  gain  began  to  be  revenged  on 


16  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

him  in  the  person  of  his  only  son.  He  knew  it  and  felt  it  as 
keenly  as  any  one,  but  he  hardened  his  heart.  He  refused  to 
see  the  boy  for  some  time,  and  he  saw  him  but  very  seldom 
until  he  died. 

It  becomes  necessary  that  we  should  follow  Robert  Hilton 
to  the  end,  before  we  return  to  Austin  and  Eleanor,  and  it  is 
very  shortly  done. 

This  case  was  the  one  on  which  the  Rev.  Letmedown  Easy 
gained  his  present  enormous  and  justly-earned  reputation  for 
keeping  young  bears  from  growling,  by  feeding  them  with  the 
toast  from  under  the  asparagus,  with  the  ends  of  the  twists, 
the  eggs  out  of  the  pigeon-pies,  and  other  soothing  dainties, 
until  the  whole  thing  was  blown  over  and  everybody  had 
forgotten  all  about  it.  He  well  earned  the  thousand  pounds 
which  James  Hilton  paid  him  for  keeping  his  son  five  years 
without  scandal,  and  for  sending  his  father  a  good  character 
of  him  each  half-year.  The  Rev.  Letmedown  was  not  such 
a  very  great  rogue  ;  he  undertook  to  whitewash  the  boy,  and 
he  whitewashed  him.  He  kept  him  at  his  parsonage  in  Essex 
safe  out  of  temptation  for  five  years,  until  the  whole  thing  was 
forgotten.  He  was  paid  for  doing  it,  and  he  did  it. 

Our  already  old  friend,  James  Elliot,  begged  his  son  not  to 
renew  his  acquaintance  with  Robert  Hilton,  and  Austin  acqui 
esced.  Old  Hilton  never  allowed  his  son  to  come  into  the 
house,  and  so  Austin  never  saw  Robert  after  his  unfortunate 
departure  from  Eton.  It  was  no  fault,  however,  of  Austin's  ; 
if  Robert  had  ever  been  allowed  to  come  home  by  his  stern 
old  father,  they  would  have  seen  enough  of  one  another.  For 
Austin's  love  for  Eleanor  grew  stronger  year  by  year,  and  he 
AViis  always  with  her. 

More  of  this  immediately.  Just  before  Austin  went  to 
Oxford,  Eleanor  wrote  to  him  that  Robert  and  Ijer  father  were 
reconciled  at  last,  and  that  Robert  had  got  his  commission. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  17 

At  this  point  Mr.  Easy's  fictitious  respectability  suddenly  and 
lamentably  broke  down.  Before  Robert  had  been  three 
months  in  the  army,  people  began  to  talk.  Gossip  was  fol 
lowed  by  open  accusations,  accusations  by  court-martial. 
The  end  was  swift,  sudden,  and  sure  :  Robert  Hilton  was 
disgracefully  expelled  from  the  army. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  private  residence  of  the  Inspector- General  of  Shoals 
and  Quicksands  was  at  Mortlake,  his  official  yacht  generally 
lay  at  Gravesend,  and  his  /  office  was  on  the  terrace  of 
Somerset  House. 

The  duties  of  the  Inspector  of  Shoals  and  Quicksands  are, 
to  inspect  them,  and  to  report  on  the  state  of  them  to  my 
Lords.  This  is  done  firstly  by  examination  of  local  witnesses, 
and  secondly  by  personal  experience.  The  former  of  these 
two  methods  is,  of  course,  in  some  measure  performed  at  the 
office,  and  the  second  mainly  by  means  of  the  yacht. 

The  office  is  one  of  the  freshest  and  breeziest  in  London. 
On  a  summer's  day  it  is  a  very  cheerful  spot ;  the  steamers 
dashing  ceaselessly  up  and  down,  and  the  river  running  in  a 
great  gleaming  band  eastward  towards  St.  Paul's.  When  the 
wrind  is  blowing  strongly  from  the  east  or  southeast,  bringing 
with  it,  in  spite  of  miles  of  brickwork  and  smoke,  a  fresh 
whiff  of  the  wild,  glorious  sea,  and  lashing  the  river  into 
waves,  it  is  a  pleasanter  and  fresher  place  still.  But  the  best 
time  to  be  about  that  office,  is  in  a  gale  of  wind  from  the 
southward  or  southwestward ;  when  the  glass  rattles  in  the 
windows  and  the  driving  rain  comes  spinning  into  the  lobby, 

B 


18  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

when  the  door  is  opened ;  and  when  the  most  prosaic  clerk, 
wearily  copying  the  "  statement  of  William  Grumble,  master 
of  the  light-ship  on  the  St.  Margaret  Sands,  concerning  the 
shifting  of  the  N.  E.  Channel,"  cannot  help  staying  for  an 
instant  to  wonder  how  it  fares  with  William  Grumble  in  his 
light-ship  just  now ;  when  the  chimney-pots  are  flying,  the 
water  barometer  varying  four  or  five  inches  every  quarter  of 
an  hour,  and  the  gulls  up  the  river  in  dozens. 

Ever  since  he  was  a  boy,  and  a  very  small  one,  Austin  had 
been  very  fond  of  the  office  :  it  had  always  been  a  great  treat 
to  him  to  be  allowed  to  come  to  the  office,  and  plague  his 
father,  at  his  great  square  leather-covered  table.  When  his 
father  would  n't  stand  him  any  longer  he  used  to  go  out  and 
"  skylark  "  with  the  clerks,  who,  you  may  depend,  did  not  ob 
ject  to  that  sort  of  thing.  But  presently,  he  being  a  very 
noisy  boy,  his  father  would  come  in,  and  turn  him  out  of  the 
clerks'  rooms  into  the  lobby,  to  disport  himself  there. 

And  an  uncommonly  merry,  gentlemanly  set  of  fellows  were 
those  aforesaid  clerks  as  one  could  wish  to  meet  with.  No 
chief  of  any  department  had  his  clerks  better  in  hand  than 
James  Elliot,  and  no  one  scolded  less;  but  we  will  say  no 
more  of  this.  Though  the  clerks  were  merry  young  gentle 
men,  yet  when  turned  out  of  their  rooms,  Austin  found  in  the 
lobby  men  he  liked  still  better  than  the  clerks. 

Men  with  calm,  clear  eyes,  and  deliberate,  thoughtful  speech. 
Most  of  them  men  with  brown,  horny  hands  and  grizzled  hair. 
A  few  of  them  dressed  in  rough  pilot-coats ;  more,  in  old-fash 
ioned  long-tailed  coats,  with  brass  buttons  ;  more  of  them  still, 
soberly  dressed  in  unobtrusive  black,  but  all  with  the  same 
calm,  clear  eye.  These  were  the  lighthouse-keepers,  or  such 
as  they,  —  men  of  the  storm,  of  the  lee-shore,  of  the  reef,  of 
the  quicksand,  —  men  from  the  lonely  station  standing  far  sea 
ward  on  the  thunder-smitten  cliff,  or  from  the  solitary  light- 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  19 

house,  on  the  surf- washed  ledge,  miles  out  in  the  raging 
sea. 

It  was  well  for  this  golden-haired  lad,  with  his  beautiful 
face,  to  stand  at  the  knees  of  such  men  as  these,  and  listen  to 
them ;  to  hear  from  one,  how  on  a  night,  when  sea  and  air 
were  all  mixed  together  in  deadly  turmoil,  the  light-ship  he 
commanded  broke  loose  without  their  knowing  it,  and  was 
carried  over  dangerous  sands,  and  thrown  high  and  dry  and 
safe  on  the  beach ;  and  from  another  one,  how  he  and  his  male 
sat  up  one  such  night  in  the  lonely  lighthouse,  five  miles  from 
land,  watching  the  corpse  of  the  third  and  oldest  of  them,  who 
had  died  that  morning,  —  and  how,  while  they  sat  there,  they 
heard,  but  could  not  see,  an  unmanageable  and  dismasted  ship 
strike  the  rock  and  go  to  pieces,  a  hundred  feet  below  them  ; 
and  that,  creeping  down  and  opening  the  lower  door,  and  look 
ing  out  into  the  black  horror  of  darkness,  they  could  hear  in 
the  night,  close  to  them,  the  crashing  and  cracking  of  timbers, 
and  the  sound  of  men,  women,  and  children  calling  on  God 
Almighty  for  help!  There  was  nothing  there  in  the  morning, 
said  this  one,  in  answer  to  an  unexpressed  inquiry  from  Aus 
tin's  blue  eyes.  She  had  struck  at  low  tide. 

Yes ;  the  office  was  a  pleasant  place  enough,  but  there  was 
something  better  than  the  office,  —  the  yacht.  Once  a  year, 
in  the  beginning  of  recess,  there  would  come  a  long  blue  letter 
from  my  Lords  of  the  Admiralty  (not  our  Lords),  the  gist  of 
which  was  that  the  Inspector  of  Shoals  and  Quicksands  was 
to  hold  himself  in  readiness  to  accompany  their  Lordships  in 
their  annual  inspection  of  buoys.  Austin,  of  course,  went 
with  his  father  on  these  occasions,  and  enjoyed  it  mightily ; 
for,  as  he  says  in  his  reckless,  disrespectful  way,  that  my  Lords 
are  a  deuced  jolly  set  of  fellows.  When  they  were  accom 
panying  the  Admiralty  yacht,  they  used  to  see  a  great  deal  of 
very  pleasant  society,  and  Austin  had  quickly  won  the  hearts, 


20  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

not  only  of  the  Quicksand  Lords  (who  held  him  being  their 
own  property),  but  also  the  hearts  of  all  the  Admiralty  Lords, 
excepting  one  dreadful  old  sea  Lord,  with  a  cork  leg  and  a 
grievance  about  his  wife's  nephew,  whom  nobody  could  man 
age. 

Golden,  glorious  days  were  these.  Sometimes  the  two 
yachts  would  come  steaming  swiftly  and  suddenly  into  the 
harbor  of  some  great  arsenal,  by  the  ugly  hulks,  and  under 
the  rolling  downs,  flattened  on  the  summit  by  dismantled  for 
tifications,  and  so  through  her  Majesty's  fleet.  But  however 
swiftly  and  suddenly  they  came,  they  could  never  take  them 
by  surprise.  Always,  as  the  Admiralty  yacht  passed  the  first 
ship,  the  great  guns  began  booming  out  their  salute,  and  ship 
after  ship  took  up  with  the  glorious  music,  until  the  vessels  of 
the  ear  began  to  throb  with  the  concussion  of  the  air,  and  in 
calm  weather  the  harbor  would  be  filled  with  drifting  smoke ; 
for  the  time  when  these  things  happened  was  long  ago,  before 
gunpowder  was  so  much  needed  for  other  purposes  as  now, 
and  before  we  saved  £  30,000  a  year  by  stopping  unnecessary 
salutes. 

And  once  it  came  about  that  there  was  a  discussion,  as  to 
whether  or  no  a  red  buoy  should  be  put  at  the  outer  edge  of 
the  swing,  to  mark  the  entrance  to  the  Mary  Anne  Channel. 
Mr.  Elliot  went  to  the  chief  Admiralty  Lord,  and  represented 
that  he  thought  it  necessary.  As  a  general  rule,  Mr.  Elliot's 
suggestions  were  promptly  attended  to  ;  but  on  occasion,  my 
Lords  hum'd  and  hah'd  a  great  deal.  One  said  that  there 
had  been  a  good  deal  said  about  naval  expenditure  lately,  and 
that  if  it  were  necessary  to  have  a  buoy  at  all  (which,  mind 
you,  he  did  not  for  one  instant  admit),  he  was  for  having  a 
blue  buoy  instead  of  a  red,  because  every  one  who  knew  the 
least  about  their  duty  were  well  aware  that  blue  paint  could 
be  got  a  farthing  a  pound  cheaper  than  red.  Another  denied 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  21 

this  in  toto,  and  said  that  red  paint  was  cheapest.  A  third 
denied  the  existence  of  the  Mary  Anne  Channel  altogether. 
A  fourth  contradicted  him  flatly ;  but  said  that  if  the  wreck 
of  the  Mary  Anne  was  moved,  the  sand  would  silt  in  again, 
and  then  what  was  the  use  of  your  buoy  ?  Mr.  Elliot,  like  a 
man  of  the  world,  contradicted  their  Lordships,  individually 
and  collectively,  and  insisted  on  a  buoy,  and  a  red  one  too ; 
the  red  paint  was  just  as  cheap  as  the  blue.  As  Mr.  Elliot 
had  foreseen,  their  Lordships  had  a  squabble  among  them 
selves,  which  ended  in  their  turning  on  him,  and  ordering  him 
to  proceed  at  once  on  board  his  yacht,  the  Pelican,  and  pro 
ceed  to  Portsmouth  to  await  their  Lordships'  orders.  At  the 
same  time,  a  curt,  short  message  was  sent  quickly  down  by 
the  telegraph  —  which  at  that  time  was  a  thing  like  a  windmill 
gone  mad  —  to  the  commander  of  the  Admiralty  yacht  Fal 
con,  to  hold  himself  in  readiness  to  proceed  to  sea  with  their 
Lordships  at  once ;  and  then  their  Lordships  departed  to  Bel- 
grave  and  Grosvenor  Squares,  and  where  not,  to  pack  up  their 
things,  and  told  their  Ladyships  that  it  was  getting  intolerable, 
that  they  could  not  and  would  not  stand  being  dictated  to  by  a 
subordinate  any  longer,  and  that  they  were  going  to  see  into 
the  matter  for  themselves. 

The  cause  of  all  this  dire  anger,  and  all  this  Spartan  self- 
denial,  was  as  follows :  —  The  Commons  were  adjourned,  leav 
ing  Daniel  O' Conn  ell  to  the  mercy  of  the  Lords,  but  Parlia 
ment  was  not  prorogued.  The  August  sun  was  shedding  a 
mellow,  sleepy  light  over  cape  and  island ;  a  gentle  west  wind 
was  blowing  up  channel,  scarce  strong  enough  to  whiten  the 
purple  waves.  And  well !  If  their  Lordships  in  such  case, 
having  the  power  to  go  to  sea,  had  stayed  on  shore,  they  would 
have  deserved  impeachment,  or  a  contempt  worse  than  im 
peachment.  However  this  may  be,  however  angry  their 
Lordships  may  have  been  with  Mr.  Elliot,  there  was  no 


22         .  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

clond,  not  the  faintest  speck  of  one,  on  any  of  their  faces, 
when  he  boarded  the  Falcon  at  Spithead,  and  reported  him 
self.  Three  days  afterwards,  Austin,  expressing  himself  in 
that  low,  slangy  way  which  the  young  men  of  the  present  day 
seem  so  anxious  to  adopt,  said  that  my  Lords  were  "  uncom 
monly  larky."  This,  however,  is  certain,  that  Austin  and  his 
father  dined  on  board  with  their  Lordships ;  and  before  the 
soup  was  off  the  table  the  great  paddles  got  to  work,  and  the 
Falcon,  with  the  Pelican  close  in  her  wake,  went  thundering 
down  the  Solent,  and  so  out  into  the  leaping  summer  waves 
of  the  channel;  and  that,  as  the  summer  sun  went  down, 
Portland  was  hanging  to  the  north,  —  a  vast  purple  wall  over 
run  by  threads  and  bands  of  green  ;  and  that  Austin  and  his 
father  were  put  on  board  their  own  yacht  at  eight  bells,  speed 
being  slackened  for  the  purpose.  And  when  they  got  on 
board,  Austin  remarked  to  his  father  that  they  seemed  to  be 
in  for  rather  a  jolly  spree. 

Then  followed  the  short  summer  night;  and  soon  after 
dawn,  Austin  was  on  deck  looking  at  the  Start  towering  up 
to  the  north,  blue,  purple,  with  gleams  of  golden  green.  And 
while  Austin  is  looking  at  the  Start,  let  us  look  at  him  once 
for  all,  because  his  personal  appearance  will  not  greatly 
change  before  this  story  gets  wellnigh  told. 

A  very  short  description  will  suffice.  We  only  wish  to  give 
you  such  an  idea  of  his  personality  as  to  make  him  real  to 
you.  From  a  beautiful  boy  he  had  grown  to  be  a  very  hand 
some  young  man,  —  as  some  said,  one  of  the  handsomest  ever 
seen.  He  was  light-haired,  with  a  rather  delicate,  brilliant 
complexion,  and  blue  eyes.  His  figure  was  very  good,  his  air 
graceful,  his  manner  winning  and  gentle,  his  dress  always  per 
fect,  his  conversation  easy,  clever,  and  inexhaustible,  —  all  of 
which  things  caused  every  woman,  high  or  low,  whom  he  met, 
to  get  uncommonly  fond  of  him.  But,  besides,  he  not  only 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  23 

had  the  women  on  his  side,  —  which  many  a  handsome  young 
dandy  has  had  before,  —  but  also  the  men. 

The  reason  that  he  had  the  men  on  his  side  was,  that  he 
was  a  good  fellow,  and  that  means  a  good  deal,  —  so  much  so, 
that  it  is  impossible  to  describe,  with  any  exhaustive  accuracy, 
what  it  means.  Although  we  all  of  us  know  a  good  fellow,  it 
is  hard  to  be  made  4o  define  one.  Austin  was  one,  certainly. 
He  laughed  with  those  who  were  merry,  he  condoled  with 
those  who  were  sad,  nursed  those  who  were  sick,  lent  money 
to  those  who  were  poor,  was  a  good  companion  to  those  who 
were  rich,  and  carried  comfort  to  those  who  were  in  love. 
Many  others  do  all  these  things,  and  yet  are  not  good  fellows. 
Austin  was  a  good  fellow,  for  he  was  in  earnest,  and  any  one 
who  took  the  trouble  might  see  it.  He  was  now  at  Oxford  ; 
and  although  his  diligence  might  have  been  greater,  yet  his 
tutors  had  great  hopes  of  a  very  high  degree  for  him.  Rarely 
does  one  find  a  young  man  of  prospects  more  brilliant  than 
those  of  Austin,  as  he  stands  this  morning  on  the  deck  of  the 
yacht,  looking  northward  at  the  Start. 

So  the  two  yachts  went  tearing  down  channel,  as  though 
their  errand  were  to  arrive  at  the  Swing  before  the  channel 
was  silted  up ;  and  before  the  second  sunset  they  were  passing 
St.  Michael's  Mount ;  the  third  they  were  gazing  in  amaze 
ment  at  the  Worm's  Head,  rising  like  a  serpent  out  of  the 
sea  ;  the  next  they  were  at  the  Swing. 

Here  there  was  an  accident.*  Austin  was  on  board  of  the 
Falcon,  and,  as  they  approached  the  shoal,  their  Lordships  all 
began  wrangling  once  more  on  the  buoy  question,  which  had 

*  If  Austin  is  correct  about  this  accident,  there  must  have  been  two 
accidents 'to  the  Admiralty  yacht,  very  similar;  for  it  is  a  matter  of  history 
that  my  Lords  bumped  themselves  ashore  in  the  Bristol  Channel  in  1846. 
They  should  be  more  careful.  What  should  we  do  if  anything  were  to 
happen  to  them? 


24  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

been  shelved  just  now,  in  the  pleasure  of  the  voyage.  There 
was  no  need  for  them  to  have  troubled  themselves  about  it, 
Mr.  Elliot  would  have  explained,  but  no,  they  were  not 
coming  five  hundred  miles  for  nothing,  and  so  they  began  to 
wrangle. 

The  commander  asked,  should  he  steer  by  the  Admiralty 
chart,  or  by  Mr.  Elliot's  directions  ?  Mr.  Elliot  must  be 
made  to  know  that  their  Lordships  were  not  going  to  be  hood 
winked  by  a  subordinate.  By  the  Admiralty  chart,  if  you 
please. 

Thump,  bump !  up  goes  her  nose  two  feet  in  the  air,  and 
down  she  goes  on  the  port  side.  The  senior  Lord  goes  into 
the  lee-scuppers,  and  Austin  indecently  bursts  out  laughing. 
The  Falcon  was  aground  hard  and  fast.  This  is  Austin's 
account  of  the  matter.  It  seems  somewhat  apocryphal. 

She  was  off  again  at  high  tide,  with  the  loss  of  some  cop 
per.  But  the  effect  of  the  accident  was,  that  they  rounded 
the  Lleyn  and  made  for  Liverpool. 

It  was  a  very  important  voyage,  this,  for  Austin,  and  the 
conclusion  of  it  more  important  still.  Austin  had  been  by 
this  voyage  thrown  into  such  close  and  intimate  familiarity 
with  some  one  or  two  leading  men,  as  commonly  happens  on 
board  ship,  where  intimacies  are  so  rapidly  made  as  to  aston 
ish  those  who  are  not  in  the  habit  of  going  to  sea.  Austin  had 
used  his  time  well.  He  was  as  irresistible  as  usual.  He  had 
never  been  presented  to  their  own  senior  Lord  before  he  went 
on  board,  and  considered  such  an  event  rather  a  great  one  for 
a  lad  at  the  University,  without  any  pretensions  to  birth.  But 
after  four  days  at  sea,  he  had  laughed  when  he  picked  that 
Lord  out  of  the  lee-scuppers,  and  that  Lord  had  somewhat 
eagerly  appealed  to  his  opinion,  against  another  Lord,  as  to 
whether  or  no  he  had  prophesied  the  accident.  Which  was 
getting  on  very  well  indeed. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  25 

\ 

But  better  than  this  happened  to  him.  They  turned  into 
the  Strait,  and  dropped  anchor  at  Caernarvon,  the  senior  Lord 
of  the  Quicksands  was  going  to  disembark  there,  and  post  to 
his  estate  in  Merionethshire.  Austin's  ears  actually  tingled 
with  delight  when  the  senior  Lord  asked  him  to  come  with 
him,  and  spend  a  fortnight  with  him  and  his  family  among  the 
mountains. 

Austin  was  ambitious,  and  he  knew  that  one  of  the  roads 
to  political  greatness  was  the  being  well  thought  of  in  certain 
quarters.  But  he  was  no  tuft-hunter,  and  he  knew  besides 
that  the  only  way  to  gain  a  footing  in  a  house  was,  to  come 
in  at  the  front  door,  and  not  at  the  back.  From  his  first 
acquaintance  with  Lord  Charles  Barty  at  Eton,  he  had  had 
the  full  run  of  Cheshire  House,  but,  since  he  had  been  at  the 
University,  his  sense  had  told  him  that  he  had  better  not  go 
there  till  he  was  asked.  In  spite  of  Lord  Charles  Barty's 
friendship  for  him,  which  developed  as  they  both  grew  older, 
Austin  had,  for  the  last  three  years,  managed  to  avoid  enter 
ing  the  house,  until  the  time  should  come  when  he  might  be 
asked  to  do  so  by  much  more  important  people  than  his  old 
schoolmate. 

But  here  was  a  real  triumph.  The  senior  Lord  was  a  very 
great  man  indeed.  There  were  very  few  greater.  Austin 
had  only  been  presented  to  him  four  days  before,  and  had 
laughed  at  him  but  yesterday,  when  he  picked  him  up  out  of 
the  lee-scuppers,  and  yet  here  was  his  Lordship  insisting  on 
his  coming  home  with  him.  It  was  a  very  great  stroke  of 
business  to  a  young  man  so  anxious  to  push  himself  in  the 
world  as  Austin. 

Even    at   Caernarvon  Austin's   wonder   was   excited,   not 

merely  at  the  reverence  which  was  paid  to  his  Lordship,  but 

also  at  the,  if  possible,  greater  reverence  paid  to  himself.    lie 

was  very  much  amused  by,  and  puzzled  at  it.     The  landlord 

2 


26  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

at  Caernarvon  bowed  to  him,  and  called  him,  "  My  Lord." 
"  Simple  people,  these  Welsh,"  thought  Austin. 

But  he  did  not  think  so  very  much  of  it,  for  this  day  was 
an  era  in  his  life.  For  the  first  time  he  saw  mountain  scenery, 
—  and  I  think  that  the  reader  will  agree  with  the  author  that, 
of  all  the  introductions  to  mountain  scenery,  that  of  the  road 
from  Caernarvon  to  Llanberis  is  one  of  the  most  sudden,  most 
startling,  and  most  beautiful. 

My  Lord,  whom  we  will  now  call  Mr.  Cecil,  sat  opposite  to 
him,  and  was  very  much  pleased  with  his  boyish  enthusiasm  ; 
and,  indeed,  the  enthusiasm  of  a  young  person,  when  they 
first  find  their  visible  horizon  tilted  up  some  ninety-five 
degrees,  is  very  pleasing.  Mr.  Cecil  sat  and  smiled  at  him, 
with  an  air  of  calm  pride  on  his  face,  as  if  he  had  made  it  all 
himself,  and  was  pleased  to  find  that  his  trouble  was  appre 
ciated.  But  as  we  all  do  this,  when  we  introduce  a  friend  to 
some  new  scenery,  we  must  not  be  hard  on  -Mr.  Cecil. 

In  the  very  middle  of  the  finest  part  of  the  Pass,  there  came 
riding  towards  them  a  very  tall,  important-looking  gentleman, 
with  very  black  whiskers.  He  stopped  and  saluted  Mr.  Cecil, 
and  looked  with  such  lively  interest  at  Austin,  that  the  poor 
young  gentleman  felt  inclined  to  laugh.  The  gentleman  with 
the  black  whiskers  asked,  with  a  sweet  smile,  to  be  introduced. 
When  Austin  was  introduced  as  Mr.  Elliot,  the  gentleman 
looked  very  much  disappointed  and  aggrieved,  and  was  many 
degrees  shorter  in  his  speech  towards  Austin  than  the  latter 
had  supposed,  from  previous  symptoms,  he  would  have  been. 

It  was  a  memorable  and  delightful  day.  A  lucky  rogue  was 
Austin,  to  be  shut  up  tete-a-tete  in  an  open  carriage  with  one  of 
the  most  agreeable  and  famous  men  in  England,  and  driven 
through  a  continual  succession  of  such  beautiful  scenery.  Mr. 
Cecil,  on  his  part,  was  delighted  with  Austin's  charming  man 
ners  and  ingenuousness.  He  listened  kindly  and  with  interest 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  27 

to  his  confidences,  to  his  anticipations  of  a  career  in  the  world  ; 
and  made  Austin  blush  with  delight  by  saying,  that,  from  all 
he  had  seen  of  him,  there  was  nothing  whatever  to  prevent 
the  realization  of  a  very  great  portion  of  his  hopes. 

But  the  most  beautiful  among  all  the  beautiful  objects  seen 
that  day  was  the  one  seen  last.  More  beautiful  than  a  million 
silver  threads  of  water,  streaming  from  ten  thousand  crystal 
line  peaks.  More  beautiful  than  all  the  soaring  ranges  of 
feathering  birch,  which  hung  purple  over  the  winter  snow,  or 
shone  golden  over  the  summer  fern,  in  all  glorious  Caernarvon 
shire. 

And  it  was  this.  As  the  summer  sun  was  still  blazing  on 
the  topmost  crag  of  Snowdon,  and  as  each  of  the  fourteen  little 
lakes  of  that  most  exquisite  of  mountains  was  sending  up  its 
tribute  of  mist  to  wreathe  all  night  around  the  brows  of  the 
sleeping  cliffs,  —  at  such  time  Mr.  Cecil  and  Austin  came  to  a 
wall,  inside  of  what  was  a  dark  band  of  plantation,  and  Mr. 
Cecil  stopped  the  carriage,  and  said,  "  This  is  the  beginning 
of  my  park.  Let  us  get  out  and  walk ;  we  shall  be  at  the 
house  as  soon  as  the  carriage,  if  we  go  by  the  short  cut." 

So  they  got  out,  and  the  carriage  drove  on.  Mr.  Cecil 
opened  a  gate  in  the  wall,  and  said,  "  Come  on." 

And  Austin,  standing  in  the  road,  and  looking  at  Snowdon, 
answered :  "  One  minute  more,  only  one  minute  more,  with  the 
mountain  !  Remember,  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  seen 
this  sort  of  thing.  See  !  the  black,  purple  shadow  is  creeping 
up,  and  gaining  every  instant  on  the  golden  jglory  lingering 
around  the  summit.  And  look,  Mr.  Cecil,  every  wreath  of 
mist  from  every  wrinkle  and  hollow  among  the  great  slate 
buttresses  is  turning  from  fleecy  white  to  a  pale,  ghostly  blue. 
I  beg  pardon,  I  am  keeping  you  waiting.  People  generally 
make  asses  of  themselves  when  they  are  first  introduced  to 
mountain  scenery." 


28  AUSTIN  ELLTOT. 

"  Generally,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Cecil ;  "  but  you  are  slightly 
poetical  for  a  young  gentleman  who  proposes  to  succeed  in 
politics.  Come  on,  I  have  something  to  show  you  finer  than 
that  mountain  before  you  get  any  dinner." 

He  was  right.  The  path  grew  steep  and  rocky  as  it  wound 
down  through  the  dark  wood,  and  to  the  right  Austin  began  to 
distinguish  a  dim  abyss,  and  to  hear  a  sound  as  of  a  mighty 
wind  coming  through  the  trees ;  and  then  suddenly  they  stood 
upon  a  slight  bridge,  and  were  looking  up  at  a  broad  cascade 
which,  streamed  and  spouted  a  hundred  feet  over  head. 

He  gave  a  cry  of  honest  delight  at  the  glorious  spectacle. 
He  was  standing,  still  absorbed  in  it  a  few  minutes  afterwards, 
when  he  was  touched  on  the  shoulder. 

He  turned,  expecting  to  see  only  his  host,  but  beside  him 
was  standing  the  most  beautiful  girl  he  had  ever  seen,  with 
her  arm  round  her  father's  waist. 

"  My  daughter  !  "  But  was  it  really  his  daughter,  or  was 
it  some  beautiful  fairy  of  the  stream,  some  being  born  of  the 
amber-colored  water,  of  the  white  foam,  and  of  the  last  rosy 
tints  that  hung  on  the  cliffs  over  head  ?  Such,  for  one  instant, 
was  his  silly  fancy,  as  he  looked  on  this  sudden  apparition,  at 
her  light-brown  hair,  her  pure  red  cheek,  and  her  white  gown. 
Was  it  fated  that  every  one  who  met  him  this  day  should  look 
disappointed  ?  Miss  Cecil,  the  most  amiable  as  well  as  the 
most  beautiful  of  women,  even  she  seemed  to  have  some  slight 
shade  of  disappointment  on  her  face.  It  was  inexplicable,  but 
very  annoying. 

If  her  beauty  showed  to  advantage  amidst  the  seething  mist 
of  the  waterfall,  it  did  not  show  to  less  advantage  under  the 
shadows  of  the  woodland,  as  she,  her  father,  and  Austin 
walked  home  together.  Not  to  less  advantage,  at  all  events, 
to  Austin,  but  to  greater.  And  in  his  eyes  her  beauty  seemed 
to  increase  as  he  looked  at  her,  and  grew  even  more  and  more 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  29 

divine  at  each  turn  of  the  head,  and  at  each  fresh  expression 
of  the  face.  Austin  had  never  seen  such  beauty  before  :  Mr. 
Cecil  had.  The  beautiful  girl's  dead  mother  was  even  more 
beautiful  than  she. 

From  the  windows  of  Tyn  y  Rhraiadr  (the  farm  of  the 
waterfall)  you  can  see,  on  a  fine  summer's  night,  Snowdon 
hanging  aloft  like  a  purple  crystal,  and  the  arch  of  twilight 
creeping  along  behind  it  from  west  to  east,  through  the  short 
summer  night,  until  it  begins  to  flash  and  blaze  into  a  dawn 
more  glorious  than  the  scarce-forgotten  sunset. 

And  all  through  that  night,  until  the  arch  of  sunrise  had 
grown  from  dull  orange  to  primrose,  and  even  after,  when  the 
sun  himself  had  looked  over  the  distant  Glyder,  and  the  long 
shadows  of  tree  and  rock  were  cast  along  the  dewy  sward,  and 
the  mowers  began  brushing  through  the  grass,  and  the  mur 
murs  of  many  waters,  which  had  waxed  and  waned  dully  on 
the  ear  through  the  night,  had  died  before  the  jubilant  mat 
ins  of  a  thousand  birds,  —  until  such  time  did  Austin  sit  at  the 
open  windows  of  his  bedroom,  and  look  out  on  the  glorious 
prospect,  and  all  the  wonderful  changes  of  color  which  take 
place  between  dawn  and  sunrise,  but  as  one  who  saw  them 
not. 

'For  the  arrow  had  gone  home  this  time  up  to  the  very 
feather. 


30  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 


CHAPTER    V. 

AUSTIN  sat  and  thought  what  he  could  recollect  to  have 
heard  about  her.  He  had  not  been  much  into  society  where 
he  would  have  been  likely  to  have  heard  much  about  her. 
Many  of  the  clerks  in  his  father's  office  would  be  likely  to 
know  more. 

He  remembered  one  thing,  however.  He  had  heard  that 
she  was  an  only  daughter  and  an  immense  heiress,  and  that 
all  the  estates  in  four  counties  would  go  to  this  young  beauty. 
And  he  was  desperately  in  love  with  her. 

He  saw  nothing  absurd  in  this  ;  he  did  not  get  up  in  the 
dead  of  night  and  stealthily  fly  the  house,  without  looking 
back  for  terror.  No  !  he  waited  impatiently  for  day,  that  he 
might  see  her  again,  and  get  more  madly,  hopelessly  entan 
gled  with  her  than  ever. 

If  she  had  shown  a  trifling  disappointment  when  he  came 
the  night  before,  she  seemed  to  be  very  much  pleased  with 
him  next  day.  She  met  him  with  ease,  and  almost  with  fa 
miliarity,  —  with  so  much  familiarity,  indeed,  that  he,  not 
knowing  the  cause  of  it,  was  very  much  delighted  indeed. 

She  had  gone  into  her  father's  dressing-room  that  morning, 
and  said,  — 

"  Father  dear,  who  is  this  Mr.  Elliot  whom  you  have 
brought  home  ?  " 

a  He  is  a  young  Oxford  man.  He  promises  uncommon 
well.  They  say  his  degree  will  be  very  good  indeed,  and  he 
is  very  ambitious.  He  may  end  by  being  a  man  of  some 
mark  :  who  knows  ?  " 

"  Is  he  nice  ?  " 

"  Can't  say,  I  am  sure.  That  is  your  business.  He  is  to 
marry  that  old  scoundrel  Hilton's  daughter,  and  go  into  Par- 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  31 

liament  with  her  money,  I  believe.  I  have  brought  him  down 
here  for  a  few  days  to  make  his  acquaintance,  and  introduce 
him  to  Mewstone.  He  will  be  useful  to  him.  He  must  pack 
off  soon,  for  he  takes  his  degree  in  the  October  term." 

"  When  is  Mewstone  coming  ?  "  said  she,  with  a  sigh. 

"  When  he  chooses,"  said  Mr.  Cecil,  laughing ;  "  you  will 
find  that  out." 

Miss  Cecil  laughed,  —  the  most  charming,  merry  laugh  you 
ever  heard,  —  and  then  sailed  away  down-stairs,  to  entertain 
that  poor  fool,  Austin  Elliot. 

Before  she  had  been  five  minutes  in  the  room  with  him,  he 
saw  that  his  first  estimate  of  her  extraordinary  beauty  was  by 
no  means  too  great.  Not  only  was  her  face  as  nearly  as  per 
fect  as  possible ;  not  only  were  her  brilliant,  yet  quiet,  hazel 
eyes,  the  most  beautiful  eyes  he  had  ever  seen ;  not  only  was 
her  golden  brown  hair,  looped  so  carelessly  and  so  gracefully 
around  the  perfect-shaped  head,  beyond  comparison  in  the 
world,  as  he  thought,  —  all  these  things  he  had  seen  ap 
proached, —  but  her  grace  of  manner,  —  a  grace  he  had  read 
of  as  being  achieved  by  some  great  actresses,  —  was  something 
which  he  had  never  seen  approached, —  a  grace  seen  only  in 
repose,  and  her  repose  was  continual.  She  moved,  of  course ; 
but  there  was  no  point  of  time  about  any  of  her  movements : 
you  could  not  say  that  at  such  a  time  she  did  so  and  so.  She 
only  slid  from  one  posture  of  infinite  grace  into  another.  Aus 
tin  thought  that  there  was  as  much  difference  between  her 
motions  and  those  of  another  woman,  as  between  those  of  a 
doe  in  the  wild  woodlands,  and  those  of  a  soldier  doing  his 
exercise. 

"  I  am  so  glad  my  father  brought  you  home  with  him,"  she 
said.  "  I  was  rather  dull  here,  all  alone  with  the  waterfall 
and  the  dogs.  Will  you  please  tell  me  about  the  yacht  run 
ning  ashore  ?  Please  make  me  laugh  about  it.  I  am  sure 


32  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

you  can  if  you  choose.  I  can  always  like  people  who  can 
make  me  laugh." 

Austin  certainly  could  do  that.  He  described  their  Lord 
ships'  squabble,  —  the  heartless  obstinacy  of  the  commander, 
his  sardonic  grin  when  he  had  made  their  Lordships  run  the 
yacht  ashore,  and  the  extraordinary  infuriated  heap  of  admin 
istrative  talent  of  the  highest  order,  which  lay  kicking  on  the 
deck,  at  the  first  bump  on  the  sand.  He  would  have  given 
five  pounds,  he  said,  to  have  been  on  board  his  father's  yacht 
at  the  time,  and  seen  his  father's  face.  The  expression  of  fun, 
he  said,  tempered  with  propriety,  which  would  have  been  seen 
in  that  face,  would  have  been  better  worth  seeing  than  the 
whole  of  their  seven  Lordships  fighting  together  in  the  lee- 
scuppers. 

She  laughed  very  heartily,  and  she  said,  "  I  think  I  shall 
like  you  very  much  indeed.  Will  you  come  and  walk  with 
me  this  morning  ?  my  father  will  be  busy  on  the  farm.  My 
father  tells  me  you  are  going  into  politics.  Will  you  tell  me, 
for  I  have  not  seen  a  newspaper,  what  are  people  saying  about 
this  O'Connell  business  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Austin,  "  they  are  saying  all  kinds  of  things. 
Mr.  Cecil  hopes  that  the  Lords  will  reverse  the  judgment  of 
the  lower  courts.  I  entirely  disagree  with  your  father. 
There  is  something  very  charming  in  that.  I,  Austin  Elliot, 
distinctly  tell  you,  Miss  Cecil,  that  I  disagree  with  a  Privy 
Councillor  and  first  Lord  of  Shoals  and  Quicksands.  It  makes 
one  feel  taller  to  say  it.  I  have  a  good  mind  to  tell  him  so 
himself." 

"  Better  not,"  she  said,  laughing  ;  "  such  presumption  might 
ruin  your  prospects.  And  now  let  us  leave  politics  and  come 
and  see  the  dogs." 

There  was,  in  and  about  the  kennel,  almost  every  variety 
of  dog  conceivable.  There  were  deep-jowled  dogs,  with 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  33 

sunken  eyes  and  wrinkled  foreheads,  at  the  first  distant  note 
of  whose  bell-like  voice,  the  hunted  slave  in  the  Cuban  jungle 
lies  down  and  prays  for  death  ;  yet  who  here  is  a  stupid,  blun 
dering,  affectionate  brute,  who  will  let  you  do  as  you  like  with 
him,  and  casts  himself  on  his  back  at  Miss  Cecil's  feet.  Eng 
lish  bloodhounds,  too,  stupid,  sleepy,  good-natured,  slobbering. 
St.  Bernard's,  too,  —  dogs  of  the  snow-storm  and  the  ava 
lanche,  wise-looking  dogs,  self-contained,  appearing  to  know 
more  than  they  chose  to  say,  but  idiots  withal  notwithstanding, 
and  very  great  idiots,  as  are  many  self-contained  and  wise- 
looking  animals  beside  they.  A  great,  rough  Newfoundland 
dog,  chained  up.  Marry,  why  ?  Because  he  had  been  the 
pet  of  the  house,  until  one  day  he  had  become  Must,  jBerserk, 
or  what  you  choose  to  call  it,  until  the  devil,  or  the  seven 
devils,  which  lurk  in  all  Newfoundland  dogs,  gentle^and  docile 
as  they  are,  had  broken  loose,  and  Mr.  Cecil  had  had  to  fight 
with  him  for  his  life  in  his  own  dressing-room.  There  were 
two  French  poodles,  which,  as  Mr.  Sala  says  somewhere,  so 
truly,  "  you  can  teach  to  do  everything  but  love  you."  There 
was  a  British  bull-dog,  white,  with  small  eyes  ;  so  short-sighted 
as  to  be  obliged  to  examine  everything  with  his  nose  (which 
gave  Austin  a  creeping  up  his  back),  and  with  a  wicked,  low 
ering,  face  ;  yet  which  bull-dog  turned  out,  like  most  other 
British  bull-dogs,  to  be  a  good-natured,  kind-hearted  fellow, 
and  a  firm  friend,  as  soon  as  he  had  (by  smelling  the  calves 
of  their  legs,  a  .nervous  proceeding)  found  out  his  friends  from 
his  enemies. 

And  Austin,  finding  that  the  bull-dog,  instead  of  biting  his 
legs,  wagged  his  tail  at  him,  and  proposed  to  accompany  him 
farther,  broke  out  into  raptures. 

"  Miss  Cecil,  I  have  never  seen  such  a  collection  of  dogs  as 
this  !  And  I  am  a  great  fancier  of  dogs." 

"  You  have  not  seen  them  nearly  all  yet,"  she  said.     "  This 

2*  C 


34  AUSTIN  KLLIOT. 

is,  I  believe,  the  best  collection  of  dogs  in  England  ;  or  rather, 
I  should  say,  better  than  any  in  England,  for  we  are  in  Wales. 
1  ou  know  how  they  came  here  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  My  poor  brother  chose  to  have  the  best  dogs  in  England  ; 
it  was  a  passion  with  him  ;  and  since  his  death,  my  father  has 
chosen  to  pursue  his  hobby.  You  know  about  my  brother's 
death  ?  " 

"  O  yes,"  said  Austin,  who  knew  nothing  at  all  about  it, 
but  who  did  what  was  possibly  the  best  thing  he  could  do, 
utter  a  fa$on  de  parler  (for  it  was  nothing  more),  and  try  to 
turn  the  subject.  At  the  same  time  he  reflected,  that  it  would 
be  well  for  young  men  like  himself,  not  in  society,  before  they 
went  into  a  house,  to  inform  themselves  somewhat  about  the 
history  of  that  house,  to  prevent  mistakes. 

"  Do  you  really  know  about  my  brother,  Mr.  Elliot  ?  "  said 
Miss  Cecil. 

"  Well,  no,  "said  Austin,  "  I  do  not,  since  you  ask  me  twice. 
Remember,  I  am  only  an  undergraduate  at  Oxford,  and  that 
I  knew  nothing,  even  of  Mr.  Cecil,  except  that  he  was  one  of 
the  first  men  in  England,  and  had  given  such  and  such  votes, 
until  he  asked  me  here." 

"  I  like  you  very  much,"  said  she  ;  "  you  are  so  well-bred, 
and  have  so  little  pretension.  I  only  wanted  to  mention  my 
poor  brother,  whom  I  hardly  remember,  to  warn  you  what  not 
to  talk  about  with  my  father.  He  was  drowned  boating  at 
Eton.  And  you  will  find  that  it  is  as  well  to  know  all  this 
sort  of  thing  in  the  world." 

Miss  Cecil,  the  oracle,  was  much  younger  than  Austin ; 
but  she  had  been  out  two  seasons,  and  knew  a  great  deal  of 
the  world  ;  and  he  was  at  the  University,  and  knew  absolutely 
and  entirely  nothing.  If  he  had,  he  would  Lave  known  what 
a  consummate  fool  he  was  to  fall  in  love  with  her,  recklessly 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  35 

to  go  on  feeding  his  passion  ;  and  above  all,  what  an  utter 
fool  he  was  to  hope  that  it  would  have  any  other  than  one 
conclusion. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  world,  or  about  people,  yet,"  he 
|  said  ;  "  I  suppose  the  knowledge  of  people  and  their  belong 
ings  will  come  to  one  in  time.  It  seems  tiresome  to  get  it  up. 
Do  you  know  that  none  of  the  best  fellows  who  I  know  are 
up  in  that  sort  of  thing.  Now,  there  is  Lord  Charles  Barty, 
he  is  coming  on  very  well  indeed ;  but,  mind  you,  I  believe  if 
you  were  to  put  -him  into  a  corner  he  would  not  be  able  to  tell 
you  who  his  grandmother's  father  was." 

Miss  Cecil  laughed.  "  I  daresay  not,"  said  she.  "  /  know. 
His  grandmother  was  a  Leyton,  daughter  of  Sir  Robert-  Ley- 
ton,  of  Broadash.  Leave  the  pedigrees  to  the  women.  One 
of  the  great  uses  of  a  woman  in  society  is,  I  take  it,  to  tell 
her  husband  who  people  are." 

So  she  talked  to  him,  as  one  would  talk  to  an  intelligent 
boy  sent  to  one  for  a  holiday  ;  and  yet  the  fool  loved  on  more 
madly  than  ever. 

"  Come  on,"  she  said,  "  and  let  us  see  the  rest  of  the  dogs  "  ; 
for  this  conversation  took  place  at  the  fountain  in  the  centre 
of  the  kennels,  and  they  had  only  come  up  one  avenue,  and 
only  seen  one  fourth  of  the  dogs  as  yet 

And  as  they  turned  to  go,  she  said  : 

"  I  like  you  very  much,  as  I  told  you  before.  And  to  prove 
to  you  how  much  I  like  you,  I  will  give  you,  out  of  all  these 
hundreds  of  beautiful  dogs,  the  dog  you  choose,  —  the  dog  you 
think  that  you  will  love  best ;  and  I  only  annex  one  condition, 
—  that  whenever  your  heart  warms  towards  that  dog,  that  you 
will  think  of  me,  and  think  how  much  I  like  you.  I  have 
heard  a  very  great  deal  of  you.  I  rather  believe  that  you 
did  not  know  of  my  existence  before  you  came  here.  But  I 
have  been  in  love  with  you  for  a  long  time." 


3G  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

Miss  Cecil  and  Eleanor  had  been  friends  and  correspond 
ents  ;  Austin  did  not  know  this.  He  was  not  coxcomb  enough 
to  take  her  cool  free-arid-easy  expressions  as  advances  to  him 
self,  and  yet  he  was  foolish  enough  to  think  that  they  formed 
a  basis  of  operations.  He  had  hopes. 

He  was  a  great  fool ;  but  I  would  not  have  cared  to  write 
his  history  if  he  had  not  been.  Let  us  be  Jacobin,  democratic, 
and  revolutionary  for  a  season,  until  our  reason  returns.  If  a 
man  is  thrown  into  intricate  relations  with  a  woman,  however 
much  his  superior  in  rank,  that  man  is  justified,  if  he  so  please, 
in  falling  in  love  with  that  woman.  A  man  may  fly  from  a 
hopeless  passion,  and  be  miserable.  Granted.  A  man  may 
yield  to  a  hopeless  passion,  and  may  behave  like  a  gentleman, 
and  keep  it  all  in  his  own  breast,  and  tell  no  one  but  the  friend 
of  his  heart,  and  be  miserable.  Also  granted.  But  if  a  man 
comes  to  me  and  says,  that  although  he  was  with  such  and 
such  a  woman,  but  didn't  allow  himself  to  foil  in  love  with  her 
because  she  was  above  him  in  rank,  I  choose  to  tell  that  man 
that  he  is  no  man  at  all,  and  no  more  knows  what  love  means 
than  a  horse  or  a  dog. 

Now  they  began  looking  at  the  terriers.  There  was  one 
snow-white  English  terrier  of  such  amazing  beauty,  that  Aus 
tin  very  nearly  chose  it,  but  fortunately  did  not.  Then  there 
were  some  black-and-tans,  equal  in  beauty  to  the  white  ;  Dandy 
Dinmont  terriers,  as  long  and  as  lithe  as  otters  ;  and  pert, 
merry,  sharp  little  Skyes ;  rough  long-legged  English  fox  ter 
riers,  which  ran  on  three  legs,  like  Scotch  terriers,  and  held 
their  heads  on  one  side  knowingly.  Austin  was  more  and 
more  delighted  every  step.  He  knew  all  about  every  dog ; 
but  at  the  last  he  was  stopped.  He  came  across  four  little 
dogs,  the  like  of  which  he  had  never  seen  before. 

Little  long-bodied,  short-legged  dogs,  a  dull  blue-gray  color, 
with  clouded  black  spots ;  sharp,  merry  little  fellows. 

• 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  37 

"  What  dogs  can  these  be,  Miss  Cecil  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  am 
quite  at  fault." 

"  Cannot  you  guess  ?  Why,  they  are  turnspits,  and  all  with 
the  turnspit  peculiarity.  The  right  eye  is  not  of  the  same 
color  as  the  left.  I  suppose  you  will  hardly  see  such  dogs  as 
these  in  England.  Will  you  choose  one  ?  " 

Although  one  of  the  queer,  merry  little  rogues  begged  at 
him,  he  said  no.  "  They  are  a  sight,"  he  said,  "  a  sight  worth 
seeing,  but  I  will  not  choose  one.  In  an  artistic  point  of  view, 
they  are  ugly,  and  they  suggest  to  one  the  blue  dogs  which  the 
Chinese  fatten  for  table.  No.  I  hardly  dare  to  say  so,  but  of 
all  the  dogs  here  I  would  soonest  have  that  incomparable 
white  terrier.  I  have  dreamed  of  such  a  dog  as  that,  but  I 
never  saw  such  a  one." 

"  It  is  hardly  possible  that  you  can  have.  He  is  yours  with 
a  thousand  welcomes.  I  hope  he  may  live  long  to  remind  you 
of  me." 

"  I  need  no  dog  to  do  that,"  said  Austin ;  "  but  I  cannot 
take  such  a  princely  present." 

She  laughed.  "  It  is  done,"  she  said ;  "  the  election  is  made 
for  good  or  evil.  Come  and  take  possession." 

The  election,  so  terribly  important  as  it  turned  out,  was 
nearly  made.  Who  could  guess,  on  that  happy  summer's  day, 
how  much  was  to  depend  on  the  choosing  of  a  dog  ? 

"  For  the  want  of  a  nail  the  shoe  was  lost ; 
For  the  want  of  a  shoe  the  horse  was  lost ; 
For  the  want  of  a  horse  the  rider  was  lost ; 
For  the  want  of  a  rider  a  kingdom  was  lost." 

If  it  were  not  that  we  knew  that  a  tender,  loving  Father 
watches  over  us  with  all-seeing  providence,  each  action  of  a 
prudent  man's  life  would  be  accompanied  witlr  such  a  feeling 
of  terror  of  ultimate  consequences,  that  life  would  become  a 


38  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

burden,  and  the  grave  rest ;  or  we  should  run,  like  the  Turks, 
and  some  of  the  West  country  sects,  into  the  opposite  extreme 
of  saying  that  it  was  all  "  Kismet,"  that  it  mattered  not  what 
we  did. 

The  white  terrier  was  so  nearly  chosen,  in  spite  of  Austin's 
strong  repugnance  to  accept  such  a  valuable  present,  that  they 
had  turned,  and  Austin's  hands  were  eager  to  seize  the  beauti 
ful  little  animal,  and  call  him  his  own,  when,  in  the  wood  be 
hind  them,  there  was  a  wild  jubilant  bark  ;  in  another  instant 
there  was  a  rush  past  them,  as  of  an  eagle  coming  through  a 
forest ;  in  the  next,  a  dog,  different  to  any  they  had  seen  be 
fore,  was  madly,  joyously  careering  round  and  round  them  in 
ever-narrowing  circles ;  and  in  another  he  was  leaping  on  both 
of  them,  and  covering  them  with  caresses. 

But  he  saw  that  Austin  was  a  stranger,  and  paused  to  look 
at  him,  and  after  a  moment  he  reared  up  against  him,  and  said 
with  his  beautiful  soft  hazel  eyes,  as  Austin  thought,  "  Choose 
me,  choose  me,  and  I  will  follow  you  through  it  all,  even  to 
the  very  end." 

It  was  a  most  beautiful  Scotch  sheep-dog,  black  and  tan  and 
white,  with  a  delicate  smooth  head,  the  hair  of  which  began  to 
wave  about  the  ears,  until  it  developed  into  a  deep  mane  upon 
flie  shoulders.  The  author  has  described  such  a  dog  before. 
The  Scotch  sheep-dog  is  the  highest  development  of  the  brute 
creation,  in  beauty,  in  sagacity,  and  in  other  qualities,  which 
one  dares,  by  leave  of  Messieurs  of  the  Holy  Office,  to  call 
moral.  This  was  the  most  beautiful  dog  of  that  variety  ever 
seen.  If  the  reader  wishes  to  realize  the  dog  to  himself  he 
can  do  so  thus.  In  Landseer's  picture  of  "  The  Shepherd's 
Bible,"  the  dog  which  is  standing  up  is  very  like  him  ;  though 
the  dog  I  am  describing  is  drawn  from  the  life,  and  from  a 
handsomer  dog  than  he. 

"  This  is  the  dog  for  me,"  cried  Austin.    "  Why,  you  beauty ! 


AUSTIN  "ELLIOT.  39 

Miss  Cecil,  I  would  give  anything  for  -this  dog.  Just  look  at 
his  eyes,  will  you.  Can  I  have  him  ?  Does  he  belong  to  any 
one  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  laughing.  "  He  belongs  to  you.  He  is 
worth  all  the  white  terriers  that  ever  were  born.  I  like  you 
the  better  for  your  choice  of  Robin." 

At  this  moment  a  harsh  voice  behind  them  said  : 

"  How  d'  ye  do,  Miss  Cecil  ?  By  Jove  !  that  dog  is  a 
deuced  clever  dog.  He  began  by  pitching  into  me,  but  when 
your  father  said,  '  Go  find,  Robin,'  he  became  docile,  and 
brought  me  on  your  track  like  an  Indian.  Is  he  yours  ?  " 

"  He  is  Mr.  Elliot's.  How  do  you  do,  Captain  Hertford  ?  " 
said  Miss  Cecil,  very  coldly. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

CAPTAIN  HERTFORD,  the  man  who  had  just  found  the 
group,  was  a  man  whose  personal  appearance  requires  some 
slight  notice,  and  but  very  slight.  He  was  a  very  big,  thick 
set  man.  He  had  a  broad  red  face,  the  principal  features  of 
which  were  lowering,  bushy  eyebrows,  beneath  which  were 
cruel,  deep-sunk,  light-blue  eyes ;  and  a  thick,  coarse  mouth, 
too  big  to  be  entirely  hidden  by  the  moustache  which  met  his 
deep-red  whiskers.  The  expression  of  his  face  was,  towards 
men,  scowling  and  insolent  ;  what  it  was  towards  women  I 
know  not,  but  should  fancy  that,  if  it  was  intended  to  express 
admiration,  it  was  more  repulsive  than  his  ordinary  look  of 
defiance  and  ill-temper. 

He  looked  with  intense  eager  curiosity  at  Austin.  Austin 
did  not  look  with  much  curiosity  at  him,  or  he  would  have 


40  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

seen  him  bite  his  lip  impatiently.  He  might  have  been  flat 
tered  had  he  heard  the  Captain  say  to  himself,  "  Consume  the 
young  beggar,  he  is  infernally  handsome." 

'*  You  are  unexpected,  Captain  Hertford,"  said  Miss  Cecil ; 
"  but  not  the  less  welcome.  Whence  have  you  come  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  at  Brussels  with  Mewstone.  I  stayed  a  day  or 
two  there  after  him.  He  got  hold  of  the  old  Countess  Dcn- 
telles,  and  carried  her  off  to  Malines  with  him.  They  seem  to 
have  been  pretty  busy  those  two  days.  The  bill  has  come  to 
me  in  the  course  of  business." 

"  Is  it  very  large  ?  "  said  Miss  Cecil,  laugliing. 

"  A  little  over  thirty  thousand  francs." 

"  That  is  very  extravagant." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Captain  Hertford.  "  I  don'-t  think  it 
is  so  very  bad.  Remember  what  it  must  have  cost  to  get  the 
old  Countess  to  leave  her  box  at  the  St.  Hubert,  with  Levas- 
seur  starring  from  Paris,  and  pack  off  to  Malines  with  him, 
with  her  rheumatism  and  her  monkey.  When  I  looked  at  the 
bill,  I  pointed  to  an  item  of  five  thousand  francs,  and  I  said  to 
him,  '  That 's  the  old  woman's  share ' ;  and  he  laughed  and 
said,  '  Yes.'  He  got  her  uncommon  cheap,  I  think,  at  that. 
She  is  the  best  judge  in  Europe.  They  would  have  cheated 
him  horribly  if  she  had  n't  gone  with  him." 

Austin  had  no  more  notion  what  they  were  talking  about 
than  the  man  in  the  moon.  He  looked  at  them  both  with 
wonder.  Miss  Cecil  began  again  : 

"  Well,  on  the  whole,  he  could  not  have  clone  better.  I 
suppose  the  poor  old  devotee  will  put  it  on  the  shoulders  of 
some  Bambino  or  another.  Poor  old  lady  !  " 
c  u  What  a  delightful  rummage  she  must  have  had.  There 
must  have  been  a  great  excitement  at  Malines  at  her  ap 
pearance." 

"  What  detained  you  in  Brussells,  Captain  Hertford  ?  " 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  41 

"  Well,  a  very  unpleasant  affair.  An  affair  touching  my 
personal  honor." 

"  Have  you  been  out  again  ?  "  she  asked,  turning  shafply 
upon  him. 

"  No,"  said  Captain  Hertford.  "  A  young  fellow,  an  Eng 
lishman,  had  forged  Mewstone's  name  to  a  large  amount.  I 
followed  him  to  Namur,  to  see  whether  I  could  recover  any 
thing.  But  when  I  got  to  Namur  he  had  escaped  me.  My 
honor  was  concerned  in  catching  him,  for  he  was  my  acquaint 
ance,  not  Mewstone's." 

"  Did  you  follow  him  no  farther"?  "  she  asked. 

"  There  was  no  need.  By  the  by,  Mewstone  is  in  Lon 
don,  and  will  be  here  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"  Is  any  one  there  to  act  for  him,  as  the  Countess  Dentelles 
did  at  Malines  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Captain  Hertford.  "  I  turned  him  into  Rundell 
and  Bridges,  as  I  would  turn  a  young  colt  into  a  clover-field. 
They  won't  cheat  him.  It  is  all  convertible  property.  Will 
you  introduce  me  to  Mr.  Elliot  ?  " 

She  did  so.  Captain  Hertford  did  not  scowl  on  him,  but 
smiled.  Austin  thought  possibly  that  his  smile  was  not  a 
pleasant  one,  but  he  did  not  care  for  that.  This  man  had  been 
talking  for  ten  minutes  to  this  woman,  and  Austin  had  not  the 
least  idea  of  what  they  had  been  talking  about.  This  man 
could  talk  to  her  and  amuse  her,  when  he  sat  mumchance. 
He  would  make  himself  a  pupil  of  this  man.  This  must  be 
one  of  the  men  of  the  world  his  father  talked  of.  But  had 
all  the  men  of  the  world  scowling  eyebrows,  and  great  coarse 
mouths,  like  this  one  ? 

Austin  laughed  as  he  asked  himself  this  question.  He  had 
seen  other  men  of  the  world.  His  father,  and  Mr.  Cecil,  and 
the  seven  other  Lord?  of  the  Shoals  and  Quicksands,  quite 
different  in  appearance  to  Captain  Hertford.  He  did  not  like 


42  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

the  look  of  this  gentleman,  but  he  would  be  his  pupil.  He 
was  as  eager  for  Captain  Hertford's  acquaintance,  as  Captain 
Hertford  was  for  his. 

They  walked  back,  all  three  towards  the  house,  and  Miss 
Cecil  went  in.  Captain  Hertford  proposed  that  they  should 
extend  their  walk,  and  smoke  a  cigar. 

Austin  was  delighted.  As  they  turned  on  the  broad  gravel 
walk,  Austin  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  the  dog  Robin  was 
at  his  heels.  His  tail  was  down,  and  his  ears  were  down.  He 
was  waiting  for  orders  from  his  new  master.  The  dog  had 
taken  to  him.  What  that  means  I  cannot  tell  you.  I  don't 
know,  and  you  don't  know,  any  more  than  this,  that  sometimes 
dogs  take  to  men,  and  sometimes  they  don't.  And  we  shall 
none  of  us  know  any  more  about  the  matter  until  the  kye 
come  hame. 

Apparently,  also,  Captain  Hertford  had  taken  to  Austin. 
His  sudden  affection  for  Austin  is  not  nearly  so  mysterious  a 
business  as  that  of  the  dog's.  We  shall  find  out  the  reason  of 
that  before  the  kye  come  hame. 

"  Where  shall  we  go  ?  "  said  Captain  Hertford. 

"  Anywhere  you  like,"  said  Austin,  with  the  frankness  of  a 
boy.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  I  want  to  make  your  acquaint 
ance.  And  any  one  place  is  as  good  as  another  for  that." 

Captain  Hertford  turned  and  looked  at  him  as  he  said  this. 
There  was  almost  a  smile  on  his  face,  as  he  heard  Austin  say 
this  ;  but  when  he  looked  at  him,  and  saw  how  handsome  he 
was,  he  scowled  agajn.  It  is  just  possible  that  this  was  an 
important  point  in  Captain  Hertford's  life.  Austin,  with  his 
fresh  innocence,  might  have  won  him  back  to  better  things 
possibly.  Who  knows  ?  But  Austin  stood  between  him  and 
the  light. 

Hertford  walked  in,  puffing  his  cigar.  He  began  the  con 
versation. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  43 

"  By  the  by,  Elliol;,  you  know  the  Hiltons,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Infinitely  well." 

"  Then  I  am  afraid  that  the  beginning  of  our  acquaintance 
won't  be  very  pleasant.  I  was  detained  in  town  on  their 
account." 

« Indeed." 

"  Yes.  You  heard  me  speaking  about  an  affair  concerning 
a  young  Englishman,  which  detained  me  at  Brussels." 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  ever  know  Robert  Hilton  ?  " 

"'Yes  ;  at  Eton,  poor  lad.  But  I  have  never  seen  him 
since." 

"  You  will  never  see  him  any  more." 

"  Oh  !  Captain  Hertford,  don't  say  that.  Do  you  mean  to 
say  he  is  dead  ?  " 

"  If  you  are  going  into  the  world,  you  must  learn  to  bear 
these  things  with  composure,  Elliot.  Now,  lean  against  that 
rock,  and  look  me  in  the  face.  Robert  Hilton  committed 
suicide  the  week  before  last  at  Namur." 

"  Suicide  ! " 

"  Yes,  suicide." 

"  God  forgive  me.  I  was  going  to  say,  that  he  would  not 

have  been  so  bold ;  so Poor  lad.  Yet,  I  don't  know. 

Was  there  anything  new  against  him  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  will  tell  you  what  there  was  against  him.  He 
forged  Mewstone's  name." 

«  Good  God  ! " 

"  Yes.  And  when  he  thought  it  must  be  discovered,  fled 
to  Namur.  I  sent  a  man  after  him.  A  letter  from  Hilton, 
to  me,  crossed  him  on  the  road.  It  announced  his  intention 
of  making  away  with  himself.  I  was  furious.  I  thought  it 
was  a  miserable  ruse  to  escape.  I  followed  my  friend  to 
Namur.  And  there  I  found  the  whole  business  unfortunately 
true." 


4i  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  Does  Mr.  Hilton  know  of  this  ?  "  said  Austin,  eagerly. 

"  Yes  ;  I  broke  it  to  him." 

"  How  did  he  take  it  ?  " 

"  Very  quietly.  You  know  the  whole  thing  is  very  sad,  and 
very  lamentable  ;  but  Hilton  is  a  man  of  the  world.  And 
with  regard  to  this  boy,  the  bitterness  of  death  was  passed. 
You  must  know  that.  He  was  a  mauvais  sujet.  I  don't 
mean  to  say  that  the  old  man  was  not  deucedly  cut  up,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing,  but  he  took  it  very  quietly." 

"  Poor  Eleanor  !  "  said  Austin. 

"  You  mean  Miss  Hilton,"  said  Captain  Hertford.  «  Well, 
she  was  very  much  cut  up.  But  she  will  be  consoled.  You 
see  this  leaves  her  in  undisputed  possession  of  nine  thousand 
a  year  at  her  father's  death." 

"  She !  she  weigh  nine  thousand,  or  nine  millions,  against 
her  brother's  life  !  You  don't  know  Eleanor  Hilton,  Captain 
Hertford." 

"  Nor  you  either,  I  fancy,"  said  Captain  Hertford,  laughing. 
"  Did  I  say  she  weighed  money  against  her  brother's  life  ? 
Don't  I  know  that  she  would  pitch  it  all  to  the  dogs  to  have 
him  back  again  ?  All  I  said  was,  that  she  would  console  her 
self  ;  and  you  will  find  that  inexorably  true.  So  she  will." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Austin  ;  "  I  suppose  she  will.  After  all, 
the  poor  fellow  was  a  sad  source  of  anxiety  to  them.  It  is 
perhaps  better  she  should  forget  him." 

"  What  a  child  you  are,  Elliot ! "  said  Captain  Hertford. 
"  Five  minutes  or  less  ago  you  were  ready  to  fight  me  —  I 
saw  it  in  your  eyes  —  for  saying  she  would  console  herself. 
Now  you  indorse  it,  repeat  it,  and  say  it  were  better  she 
should  do  so." 

This  was  what  some  gentleman  in  "Martin  Chuzzlewit" 
calls  "  dreadful  true."  Austin  had  the  good  taste  to  acknowl 
edge  it. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  45 

"  I  ought,"  he  said,  "  to  go  home,  I  think." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  should  like  to  be  near  poor  Eleanor  in 
her  trouble." 

"  Are  you  caught  there,  then  ? "  said  Captain  Hertford, 
turning  the  other  way,  and  adding,  "  I  wonder  if  he  has  any 
head  of  grouse  here." 

"  I  ?  "  said  Austin  ;  "  O  dear  !  no." 

"  I  thought  you  had  been." 

"  No,"  said  Austin,  blushing  and  hesitating  ;  "  Eleanor  Hil 
ton  and  I  have  been  brought  up  like  brother  and  sister,  you 
know." 

"  O,  indeed  !  I  had  heard  that  you  and  she  were  very  good 
friends.  What  a  beautiful  girl  this  Miss  Cecil  is  ! " 

"  Is  she  not  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  are  not  caught  there  ?  " 

"  After  twenty-four  hours,"  Austin  had  voice  enough  to  say. 
"  No  ;  I  don't  think  I  am." 

"  Then  you  must  be  a  great  fool,  Elliot,"  said  Captain  Hert 
ford. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

ONE  cannot  help  doubting  whether  or  no  Austin  would 
have  written  to  Eleanor  about  his  new  passion,  even  had  she 
not  been  in  trouble  about  her  brother's  death.  At  all  events, 
he  did  not.  He  merely  wrote  her  a  kind,  affectionate  letter, 
full  of  condolence,  but  said  no  word  of  Miss  Cecil. 

This  was  an  exception  to  his  general  rule  ;  for  he  usually 
fell  in  love  with  a  fresh  young  lady,  more  or  less  ineligible, 
every  three  months,  and  invariably  told  Eleanor  all  about  it : 


4G  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

so  that  poor  Eleanor  used  to  get  into  a  state  of  confusion,  and 
was  in  the  habit  of  confounding  the  last  young  lady  and  the 
last  but  one,  to  Austin's  great  vexation. 

But  he  wrote  to  Lord  Charles  Barty.  He  told  him  about 
Miss  Cecil,  her  beauty,  her  wit,  her  grace,  and  how  he  was 
madly  in  love  with  her ;  and  he  directed  the  letter  to  Turin. 
For  in  this  year  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Cheshire  invaded 
Italy  with  an  overwhelming  force,  exacting  tribute  from  the 
various  people  over  whose  necks  their  chariot-wheels  passed, 
taking  with  them  also  scholars  and  experts,  to  show  them  the 
best  things  in  the  way  of  art,  on  which  to  lay  their  hands,  as 
did  Buonaparte,  but,  unlike  Napoleon,  paying  for  them,  in 
hard  cash,  about  twenty  per  cent  above  their  actual  value. 

Lord  Charles  Barty  had  a  long  letter  written  to  Austin,  and 
ready  to  send,  when  he  got  Austin's.  Lord  Charles's  letter 
was  full  of  flippant  good-humored  nonsense.  He  had  tried  to 
whet  his  wits  upon  everything  he  had  seen,  and  it  is  quite 
possible  that  he  had  made  an  indifferent  success.  We  shall 
never  know  about  this,  however,  for  when  he  got  Austin's 
letter  he  burnt  his  own,  wrote  a  new  one  to  Austin,  an  eager, 
hasty  one,  of  only  six  or  seven  lines,  put  it  in  the  post-office 
himself,  walked  up  and  down  until  he  saw  the  diligence  depart 
for  Chambery,  and  then  bit  his  nails  and  stamped  when  he 
considered  that  his  letter  would  be  too  late  to  do  any  good. 

Lord  Charles  Barty  was  not  very  clever ;  in  fact,  the  Bar- 
tys  are  not  a  clever  family.  But  they  have  higher  qualities 
than  cleverness.  "  In  the  house  of  Waverley  the  qualities  of 
honor  and  generosity  are  hereditary."  So  it  may  be  said  about 
the  Barty s.  Lord  Charles  Barty  would  have  telegraphed  to 
his  friend  Austin  ;  but  alas  !  in  1844,  the  only  piece  of  tele 
graph  working  was  from  London  to  Slough,  and  from  Vaux- 
hall  to  Woking  ;  consequently  there  was  none  to  Turin.  He 
•would  have  given  up  his  holiday,  and  posted  home,  but  he 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  47 

knew  he  would  be  too  late.  He  could  only  fret  and  fume, 
until  he  told  his  father,  who  looked  very  grave,  and  said  that 
either  Mr.  Cecil,  or  Austin,  or  Miss  Cecil,  must  be  very  much 
to  blame. 

And  meanwhile  poor  Austin  continued  making  a  fool  of 
himself  with  Miss  Cecil.  Her  manner  was  very  affectionate 
towards  him.  She  had  known  Eleanor  Hilton,  having  stayed 
with  her  at  a  country  house,  and  she  had  done  what  every  one 
else  did  who  saw  Eleanor,  got  very  deeply  attached  to  her. 
This  she  told  to  Austin  the  very  first  morning  of  their  acquaint 
ance  ;  but  she  had,  of  course,  not  told  him  something  else. 
To  wit,  that  some  one  had  told  her  of  Eleanor's  having  been 
engaged  to  marry  a  young  gentleman,  by  name  Elliot,  ever 
since  she  could  talk.  She  was  very  anxious  to  see  the  man 
on  whom  so  much  of  Eleanor's  happiness  depended.  And  she 
was  delighted  and  charmed  to  find  him  so  worthy  of  her. 
That  \vas  all. 

And  so  he  walked  and  rode  and  drove  and  read  with  her 
day  after  day,  getting  more  hopelessly  entangled.  Captain 
Hertford  was  very  busy,  or  seemed  to  be,  with  her  father,  and 
left  Austin  to  cavalier  Miss  Cecil.  Mr.  Cecil  and  Captain 
Hertford  did  really  seem  busy ;  but  if  they  had  not  been,  the 
latter  would' have  contrived  to  leave  them  alone  together.  He 
had  his  reasons.  ^ 

Once  in  the  week  or  ten  days,  he  went  out  with  the  Captain 
to  walk  idly  across  some  farms  to  see  some  improvements. 
The  bailiff  was  with  them.  A  farmer,  catching  sight  of  them 
at  a  long  distance,  made  towards  them,  and  then,  hat  in  hand, 
and  addressing  Austin  every  tenth  word  as  "my  Lord,"  began 
with  Welsh  volubility  to  lay  a  case  about  draining  improve 
ments  before  him,  and  pray  his  assistance.  He  had  gone  on 
ever  so  far  before  the.  steward  had  time  to  stop  him  in  a  few 
hurried  words  of  Welsh.  The  man  scowled  on  Austin,  turned 
on  his  heel,  and  departed. 


48  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

When  lie  was  alone  with  Captain  Hertford,  Austin  said  to 
him,  "  It  is  a  very  curious  thing,  do  you  know ;  but  in  the 
few  days  I  have  been  here,  that  same  thing  has  happened  in 
different  ways,  —  not  once,  but  a  dozen  times.  I  met  a  man 
in  the  pass  of  Llanberis,  when  I  was  coming  here  with  Mr. 
Cecil,  who  first  of  all  asked,  with  the  greatest  empressement,  to 
be  introduced  to  me  ;  and  then,  when  he  heard  my  name, 
looked  very  much  inclined  to  kick  me.  I  hope  no  one  will  do 
that.  Has  any  man  called  Elliot  done  anything  very  bad  in 
these  parts  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of.  But  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think.  I 
fancy,  mind,  that  seeing  a  handsome  young  dandy  like  you, 
brought  down  here  by  Mr.  Cecil,  —  mind,  I  only  fancy,  — 
that  the  people  think  that  you  are  going  to  marry  Miss 
Cecil." 

"  Then  why,"  said  poor  Austin,  "  the  moment  they  hear 
my  name,  do  they  find  out  that  I  am  not  the  man  ?  " 

This  was  awkward.  Captain  Hertford  laughed,  and  said, 
"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know."  In  another  moment  Austin  would, 
according  to  all  laws  of  probability,  have  asked  him  whether 
Miss  Cecil  was  engaged  to  any  one.  Possibly  Captain  Hert 
ford  knew  that,  for  he  said,  before  Austin  had  time  to  say 
anything,  "  Miss  Cecil  tells  me  that  she  gave  you  the  choice 
of  all  the  dogs  in  the  kennel.  Rather  a  compliment,  eh  ? 
What  the  deuce  made  you  choose  that  infernal  sheep-dog  ?  " 

Austin  was  on  his  own  dunghill  immediately.  Captain 
Hertford  knew  he  would  be.  "  Why  did  I  choose  him  ?  "  he 
said.  "  Because  he  is  the  best  specimen  in  the  kennel." 

"  The  most  perfect  specimen ! "  said  the  artful  Captain, 
scornfully. 

«  Yes." 

"  What !  a  finer  specimen  than  that  glorious  white  terrier  ? 
You  must  be  a  fool,  Elliot.  Why,  there  is  not  such  another 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  49 

dog  in  the  world  as  that  white  terrier.  Snow-white  as  he 
seems,  you  can  see,  in  certain  lights,  the  markings  of  a  perfect 
black-and-tan  under  his  white  hair.  There  is  no  dog  like  him 
in  England." 

"He  is  only  an  Albino  black-and-tan,"  said  Elliot,  scorn 
fully.  "  He  is  a  beautiful  beast,  and  he  is  worth  thirty 
guineas,  I  allow ;  but  do  you  know  the  points  of  a  Scotch 
colley,  eh  ?  " 

"  Can't  say  I  do,"  said  Captain  Hertford.  "  Can't  say,  either, 
that  I  know  the  points  of  a  costermonger's  donkey." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Austin,  "  then  you  see  I  do.  I  know  the  points 
of  any  dog  under  the  sun.  This  dog  Robin  is  perfect  in  all 
points.  Here,  sir  !  here  !  Look  at  him." 

Captain  Hertford  looked  at  Robin,  but  Robin  did  not  look 
at  Captain  Hertford.  He  caught  his  eye  for  a  moment,  and 
then  laid  his  leaf-like  ears  back,  drooped  his  tail,  went  behind 
Austin,  and  loped,  or  lurked,  in  his  walk,  which  means,  that  he 
moved  the  two  legs  which  were  on  the  same  side  of  him  to 
gether. 

Captain  Hertford  laughed,  and  changed  the  subject.  He 
had  done  what  he  wanted.  He  had  prevented  Austin  from 
asking  an  awkward  question.  There  were  three  or  four  days 
to  spare,  by  his  calculations.  He  saw  that  Austin  had  fallen 
deeply  in  love,  poor  fool,  with  Miss  Cecil ;  he  wanted  him  to 
get  deeper  and  deeper  in  that  hopeless  passion.  Eleanor  Hil 
ton  was  heiress  to  nine  thousand  a  year.  He  had  an  intro 
duction  to  Eleanor  through  her  brother's  unfortunate  death. 
Austin  must  be  entangled  with  some  one  else  for  a  time. 

Captain  Hertford,  however,  was  playing  a  very  dangerous 
game.  He  was  "  necessary-man  "  to  Lord  Mewstone.  He 
had  been  sent  to  Tyn  y  Rhaiadr  as  his  avant  courier.  He 
had  found  Austin  there,  m  the  very  act  of  falling  in  love  with 
Miss  Cecil. 

3  D 


50  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

He  had  come  to  England  from  Brussels,  with  the  idea  that 
Eleanor  and  her  nine  thousand  a  year  were  worth  getting  at. 
He  had  heard  that  Austin  was  supposed  to  be  engaged  to  her. 
He  had  come  to  Tyn  y  Rhaiadr,  and  found  him,  of  all  men  in 
the  world,  there,  and  he  had  acted  as  above.  His  plans  were 
not  well  developed,  and  might  be  changed  ;  but  he  had  no 
doubt  of  this,  —  that  if  he  let  him  commit  himself  deeply  to 
Miss  Cecil,  it  must  be  better  for  his  plans  in  the  long  run. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

BUT,  on  the  eighth  day,  Austin's  eyes  were  opened  to  the 
true  state  of  the  case  in  this  manner  :  — 

It  was  Sunday  morning ;  Mr.  Cecil  and  Captain  Hertford 
had  not  gone  to  church,  pleading  that  the  service  was  in  Welsh. 
Miss  Cecil  had  gone,  however,  and  Austin  had  gone  with  her. 

They  returned  by  the  path  which  led  past  the  waterfall, 
where  he  had  first  seen  her,  and  there,  upon  the  giddy  bridge, 
in  the  presence  of  the  great  sheet  of  rushing  foam,  he  knew  his 
fate.  On  the  rocky  path  above  them  stood  a  tall  and  handsome 
man.  Miss  Cecil  gave  a  little  cry  when  she  caught  sight  of 
him ;  and  when  Austin  saw  her  two  little  gloved  hands  trem 
bling  out  from  under  her  shawl  towards  him,  he  knew  every 
thing.  The  eager  movement  of  those  little  hands  was  as  stern 
a  death-blow  to  his  hope  as  though  the  man  who  stood  above 
her,  and  held  out  his  arms  to  her,  had  taken  her  in  them  and 
cast  her  into  the  seething  cataract  a  hundred  feet  below. 

Alas,  poor  Austin  !  He  was  a  gentleman,  and  looked  ear 
nestly  at  the  waterfall,  lest  he  should  see  the  meeting.  When 
he  looked  round  again,  they  were  standing  side  by  side,  radi- 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  51 

ant,  handsome,  and  joyous;   and  he  could  see  that  she  was 
talking  about  him. 

So  he  went  up  to  them,  and  was  presented  by  Miss  Cecil  to 
Lord  Mewstone. 

Every  one  had  known  of  the  engagement  between-  Miss 
Cecil  and  Lord  Mewstone  for  months,  —  every  one  except, 
apparently,  poor,  ignorant  Austin.  All  Mr.  Cecil's  enormous 
estates  went  to  his  daughter.  These  estates  bordered,  in  two 
counties,  on  those  of  Lord  Mewstone.  His  marriage  with 
Miss  Cecil  would  wellnigh  double  his  already  great  wealth. 
Mr.  Cecil  had  refused  a  peerage,  because  he  saw  that  it  would 
take  place,  and  it  was  not  worth  while  leaving  the  House  of 
Commons,  —  having  no  male  issue,  and  being  in  full  work,  — 
at  least,  not  at  present.  There  was  as  much  land  as  goes  to 
make  some  independent  states.  There  were  deep  political 
considerations  at  stake  in  this  great  match.  It  was  an  affair 
of  enormous  importance  ;  and  here  was  poor,  ignorant,  self- 
confident  little  Austin  flying  his  kite  in  the  middle  of  it  all, 
with  a  calm  unconsciousness  of  the  fact  that  the  only  human 
being  there  who  guessed  his  secret  —  Captain  Hertford  —  was 
at  one  time  laughing  at,  at  another  time  admiring,  his  amazing 
impudence. 

"  By  Gad!  "  said  Captain  Hertford  to  himself;  "what  the 
deuce  is  it  ?  Is  it  innocence,  or  is  it  mere  vanity  ?  If  I  had 
had  that  amount  of  unconscious  impudence  early  in  life,  I 
might  have  done  better." 

People  said  that  this  marriage  of  Lord  Mewstone  with 
Fanny  Cecil  was  a  family  and  political  arrangement.  If  so, 
it  was  an  uncommonly  fortunate  one,  for  each  of  them  loved 
the  ground  which  the  other  walked  on.  Let  us  wish  them 
good-by  forever.  Our  way  lies  in  a  very  different  direction. 
We  must  quit  this  happy  house  among  the  Welsh  hills  ;  but  I 
am  sorry  to  say  we  must  take  away  Captain  Hertford  with  us, 
and  keep  him  with  us  altogether,  or  nearly  so. 


52  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

Austin's  adieux  were  easily  made.  The  poor,  miserable 
lad  had  only  to  say  that  he  would  take  the  opportunity  of 
travelling  as  far  as  Chester  with  Captain  Hertford  (there  was 
no  railway  farther  than  Chester  in  1844),  for  that  he  must 
join  his  reading  party.  He  received  a  hearty  farewell  from 
every  one,  and  jumped  into  the  carriage  beside  Captain  Hert 
ford,  to  go  to  Bangor. 

And  when  Captain  Hertford  looked  at  him,  he  saw  that  his 
face  was  changed  since  yesterday.  Yesterday  it  was  the  face 
of  a  remarkably  handsome  young  man,  with  merry  blue  eyes. 
To-day  it  was  the  same :  the  features,  as  regular  as  those  of 
Buonaparte  or  Castlereagh ;  the  firm-cut  mouth,  with  the 
lower  lip  slightly  pouting  ;  the  short,  curling  brown  hair  ;  the 
pure  complexion,  —  were  all  there  ;  and  yet  there  was  a  dif 
ference  since  yesterday.  Austin,  as  he  sat  in  the  carriage, 
was  as  handsome  as  Buonaparte  or  Castlereagh,  but  had  now, 
though  his  face  was  at  rest,  a  look  which  Lord  Whitworlh 
must  have  seen  on  the  face  of  the  one,  and  Mr.  Raikes  on 
the  face  of  the  other,  —  a  look  of  angry,  furious  defiance.  It 
was  expressed  in  only  one  feature,  —  in  the  eyes.  Austin's 
great  blue  eyes,  always  set  a  trifle  too  near  his  eyebrows,  were 
now  prominent,  surrounded  with  a  black  ring ;  and  whenever 
Captain  Hertford  spoke  to  him,  he  turned  them  on  him  angri 
ly,  though  his  speech  was  gentle.  Those  eyes  seemed  to  say, 
"  How  dare  you  disturb  me  ? "  And  as  Captain  Hertford 
looked  on  them,  that  veteran  warrior  and  bully  said  to  him 
self,  "  The  fellow  will  do.  He  has  power." 

And  he  remembered  the  look  of  those  eyes  when  Austin 
was  in  that  humor.  The  old,  calm  look  soon  came  back 
again ;  and  Captain  Hertford  never  saw  that  look  in  them  any 
more  until  the  16th  of  May,  1846,  —  the  night  on  which  the 
Corn  Law  Bill  was  read  the  third  time  in  the  Commons. 

But  after  a  very  few  miles  —  scarcely  more  than  one  —  a 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  53 

change  took  place.  Austin  was  disappointed  and  humiliated 
beyond  what  one  can  well  conceive ;  and  he  also  fancied,  and 
most  properly,  that  he  had  been  deceived  by  Captain  Hert 
ford.  But  the  great,  good  heart  which,  in  spite  of  alf  weak 
ness  and  conceit,  dictated  all  his  actions,  told  him  that  he  must 
speak  to  some  one.  There  was  no  one  but  this  red-faced,  red- 
haired  soldier,  with  his  sly  little  eyes,  his  coarse  moustache, 
and  his  great,  gluttonous  mouth ;  and  so  he  must  talk  to  him. 
He  had  the  strongest  repugnance  to  him  personally.  Yes. 
He  had  deceived  him  and  played  with  him,  and  hurt  his  pride. 
But  —  Well,  the  man  was  a  man.  The  fellow  could  ride,  for 
all  his  little,  deep-set  eyes.  Not  only  could  ride,  but  would 
ride  —  not  only  would  ride,  but  had  ridden  —  so  deep  into  a 
regiment  of  infuriated  Affghans,  that  the  squadron,  which 
hated  him  while  they  followed  him,  could  see  nothing  of  him 
but  the  sword  which  flickered  about  his  head. 

So  he  was  a  man  at  all  events,  though  he  might  be  only  a 
led  Captain  of  Lord  Mewstone's.  And  Austin  must  speak  to 
some  one.  And  so  the  expression  of  the  eyes  changed  alto 
gether  when  he  next  spoke  to  Captain  Hertford.  He  had  the 
dog  Robin's  head  between  his  knees,  and  was  smoothing  his 
round  forehead,  when  he  looked  up  suddenly,  and  said  to 
Captain  Hertford,  in  a  low  voice, — 

"  I  was  in  love  with  that  woman." 

Captain  Hertford  looked  uneasily  at  the  coachman,  but 
Austin  had  calculated  on  that,  and  spoken  very  low.  Captain 
Hertford  said, — 

"  Well !  well !  and  are  in  a  rage  with  me,  are  you  not  ?  " 

Austin  was  easily  disarmed  ;  he  said,  quietly,  "  No ;  I  am 
in  a  rage  with  no  one  but  myself.  What  right  has  a  poor 
ignorant  boy,  like  me,  to  be  in.a  rage  with  a  man  of  the  world 
like  you?" 

Captain  Hertford   turned   suddenly  upon   him,   and   then 


54  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

turned  suddenly  away  again.  "  I  thought,"  he  said,  "  that 
you  might  be  angry  because  I  did  not  tell  you  that  she  was 
engaged  to  Lord  M." 

"  No.  You  were  not  called  on  to  do  so.  What  a  fool  I 
must  have  been  on  the  other  hand,  eh  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  there  :  you  are  singularly  handsome, 
and  very  ambitious.  That  sort  of  thing  happens  very  often. 
There  was  Charley  Bates  and  Miss  Dawkins,  for  instance. 
Charley  had  led  a  deuce  of  a  life  with  her  uncle,  old  Fagin, 
and  Jack  Dawkins,  her  brother,  a  fellow  that  every  one  knew, 
but  who  had  gone  to  the  devil  lately.  Old  Fagin  got  hung, 
no  one  ever  found  out  what  for,  and  Charley  had  n't  got  a  rap. 
So  what  does  he  do  ?  Makes  up  to  Miss  Dawkins,  who  had 
come  into  the  old  man's  money  (her  mother  was  a  Moss  — 
one  of  the  Monmouth  Street  Mosses  —  who  had  married 
Fagin's  brother,  about  which  there  was  a  story,  sir,  and  a 
devilish  queer  one,  if  you  come  to  that)  and  married  her,  and 
made  her  cut  the  shop,  and  went  into  a  quiet  farm  in  the 
grass  shires,"  &c.,  &c. 

Mutatis  nominibus,  this  was  about  the  value  of  the  consola 
tion  which  Captain  Hertford  administered  to  Austin,  as  they 
drove  to  Bangor.  It  was  possibly  as  good  as  any  other ;  for 
the  way  of  consoling  a  gentleman  in  Austin's  circumstances  has 
got  to  be.  discovered,  as  far  as  the  author  is  aware. 

When  Austin  got  to  town,  he  found  a  letter  from  his  father. 
Mr.  Elliot  had  not  returned  from  Liverpool.  Certain  breth 
ren,  feeling  that  they  had  quite  as  good  a  right  to  a  holiday  as 
my  Lords  of  the  Shoals  and  Quicksands,  had  made  the  discov 
ery  that  the  man  Elliot  had  taken  all  the  Shoals'  Lords  up  in 
their  yacht,  and  that  they  were  (no  doubt)  tampering  with  the 
buoys  on  the  Sarn  Padrig,  which  buoys  were  their  business. 
It  was  intolerable.  They  started  in  their  yacht  in  hot  pursuit, 
overtook  the  miscreants  in  Beaumauris  Bay,  had  a  wrangle, 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  55 

and  then  steamed  off  to  the  island  of  Mull,  the  two  yachts  ra 
cing  till  the  boilers  primed,  to  see  whether  the  new  lighthouse 
had  been  painted  red,  according  to  Mr.  Elliot's  suggestion,  or 
white,  according  to  their  (the  Trinity  Brothers')  orders.  But 
they  had  a  pleasant  time  of  it,  and  dined  mutually  with  infinite 
good  fellowship,  in  spite  of  all  this  divine  wrath. 

Austin  was  still  smiling  over  this  letter,  when  he  took  up 
another.  It  was  in  Eleanor's  handwriting,  and  ran  thus :  — 

"If  you  do  come  home  unexpectedly,  dear  Austin,  pray 
come  and  see  me  at  once.  Father  is  very  ill. 

«E.  H." 

Austin  rang  for  his  servant,  and  asked  when  the  note  had 
come. 

"  Not  half  an  hour  ago,"  the  man  said.  Austin  started  at 
once. 

The  Hiltons  lived  in  "Wilton  Crescent.  He  hurried  there 
as  quick  as  he  could. 

He  was  shown  into  the  dining-room.  Of  course  his"  first 
question  was,  "  How  is  Mr.  Hilton  ?  " 

He  was  worse.  Miss  Hilton  would  come  down  at  once, 
however. 

There  was  a  footstep  in  the  passage  he  knew  full  well,  and 
he  looked  out  of  the  window.  He  felt  disinclined  to  see 
Eleanor  for  some  reason ;  he  would  have  to  tell  her  of  this 
foolish  business  about  Miss  Cecil,  and  was  disinclined  to  begin. 
He  heard  the  door  quietly  opened  and  the  gentle  rustle  of  a 
woman's  dress,  and  he  knew  that  Eleanor  Hilton  was  in  the 
room,  so  he  turned  and  confronted  this  terrible  lady,  and  felt 
his  heart  beat  the  quicker  as  he  did  so. 

There  stood  before  him  a  tiny,  delicate,  dark  woman,  dressed 
very  neatly,  in  very  quiet  colors.  She  was  like  a  little,  fragile, 
brown  moth,  a  thing  you  may  crush  with  your  finger ;  and  the 
wee,  little  elfin  thing  stood  before  him  with  her  hands  crossed 


56  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

for  an  instant  without  speaking.  If  Austin  had  looked  at  the 
eager  twitching  of  those  hands,  he  would  have  known  some 
thing  even  then.  He  knew  what  that  motion  of  the  hands 
meant  a  day  or  two  before,  when  he  saw  Miss  Cecil  raise  her 
hands  towards  Lord  Mewstone ;  but  he  did  not  notice  it  now, 
for  he  was  looking  into  her  face. 

Was  it  a  handsome  face  ?  —  ah,  no  !  Was  it  a  beautiful 
face  ?  —  ah,  dear,  yes  !  Her  hair  was  banded  closely  down 
on  each  side  of  her  great  forehead,  and  her  eyes,  her  clear, 
large  hazel  eyes,  said  as  plainly  as  words  could  have  said  to 
him,  "  I  am  a  poor  little  body  and  very  ugly,  but  I  will  love 
you  if  you  will  let  me."  All  her  features  were  very  regular 
but  very  small,  and  though  her  upper  lip  was  sharp  and  her 
chin  was  short,  the  mouth  was  the  best  feature  in  her  face, 
though  it  might  be  set  too  near  her  nose,  and  too  near  her 
chin,  yet  it  was  an  exceeding  tender  mouth  ;  although  it  was 
as  sharp  cut  as  Sarah  Siddons's,  it  helped  almost  as  much  as 
the  gentle  eyes  and  the  open  forehead  to  make  you  say  to 
yourself,  "  What  a  dear,  fragile,  lovable  little  body  it  is." 

The  author  wonders  whether  or  no  it  would  not  have  been 
better  if  he  had  said  at  first  that  she  was  like  a  gentle,  bright- 
eyed,  little  brown  mouse.  It  is  possible  that  it  may  be  so. 

"  I  knew,"  she  said,  coming  up  and  taking  his  hands,  "  that 
you  would  come  to  me." 

"  Dear  sister,"  he  said,  looking  into  her  face,  "  of  course  I 
came  to  you.  How  is  he  ?  " 

"Worse." 

"Who  is  here?" 

"  No  one  but  Aunt  Maria." 

"  Is  n't  she  too  much  for  him  ?  You  know  /  have  a  pro 
found  respect  for  Aunt  Maria,  but  at  the  same  time  you 
know  —  " 

At  this  moment  Aunt  Maria,  always  profoundly  penetrated 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  57 

with  the  idea  that  young  people  should  not  be  left  too  long 
alone  together,  came  into  the  room. 

She  was  a  big,  red-faced  woman,  with  a  Roman  nose  and  a 
protruding  chin.  A  woman  of  presence,  —  of  such  powerful 
presence  that  when  she  entered  the  room  at  one  end  and  you 
were  at  the  other,  with  your  back  towards  her,  you  knew  it. 
Was  it  merely  by  the  vibration  of  the  air,  one  wonders,  or  is 
there,  after  all,  such  a  thing  as  animal  magnetism  ? 

She  was  a  stern  woman,  with  bangles  and  brooches  and  a 
shawl.  She  revolved  in  her  orbit,  surrounded  by  an  atmos 
phere  of  Patchouli,  calculated,  by  people  curious  in  astron 
omy,  as  being  from  eleven  to  twelves  times  greater  than  her 
own  diameter. 

The  moment  that  Austin  found  himself  within  the  atmos 
phere,  he  spoke,  and  asked  her  how  she  did.  She  kept  her 
nose  in  the  air,  and  motioned  Eleanor  out  of  the  room. 

"  My  poor  brother  is  dying,"  she  said ;  "  and,  my  dear  Aus 
tin,  he  wants  to  see  your  father.  What  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

«  Why,  we  can  do  nothing,  dear  Miss  Hilton  ;  my  father  is 
in  the  Hebrides.  Let  me  see  him." 

"  It  might  be  unwise ;  I  really  don't  know  what  to  say. 
Whether  or  no  a  strange  face  —  " 

"  Mine  is  not  a  strange  face,  Miss  Hilton." 

"  No,  no  !  but  I  am  in  terror ;  it  is  your  father  he  wants. 
When  did  you  come  ?  " 

"  Just  now  ;  Eleanor  wrote  for  me." 

"  She  did,  did  she  !  It  was  giving  you  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,"  she  said,  looking  very  angry. 

Now  Aunt  Maria  did  not  want  Austin  to  see  old  Hilton,  if 
she  could  decently  help  it,  for  these  simple  reasons.  He  had 
been  raving  to  see  Mr.  Elliot ;  and  one  of  his  great  anxieties 
was,  as  they  gathered  from  his  talk,  that  Austin  should  many 
Eleanor.  Aunt  Maria  was  very  strongly  opposed  to  this.  She 
3* 


58  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

was  selfish.  She  had  great  power  with  Eleanor,  and  Eleanor 
Avould  be  an  heiress.  Eleanor  might  never  marry  at  all,  which 
would  be  for  her  benefit,  and  if  she  did  many  she  might  marry 
a  better  man  than  Austin.  She  was  a  silly  woman  as  well  as 
a  selfish  one.  She  was  taken  by  surprise  at  Austin's  appear 
ance,  and,  not  knowing  very  well  what  to  do,  did  what  silly 
women  generally  do  when  they  don't  see  their  way,  —  that  is 
to  say,  did  nothing,  but  opposed  everything^  So  she  tried  to 
prevent  Austin  from  seeing  Mr.  Hilton.  She  failed,  as  we 
shall  see ;  and  though  the  interview  was  not  very  important 
at  first  sight,  yet  it  had  some  slight  effect  on  the  course  of 
the  story.  Aunt  Maria's  intrigue  against  Austin  (in  which 
she  was,  according  to  her  light,  conscientious)  grew  to  be  much 
more  important  afterwards.  She  was  a  foolish  woman,  but 
her  obstinacy,  and  her  want  of  sensibility,  gave  her  a  terrible 
power.  Greater  and  stronger  people  than  dear  Eleanor  have 
submitted  to  an  Aunt  Maria  for  very  peace  sake. 

Austin  would  never  have  seen  Mr.  Hilton,  I  believe,  if  it 
had  not  happened  that  Sir  Rufus  James,  the  doctor,  had  hap 
pened  to  be  up-stairs,  and  had  come  into  the  dining-room  on 
his  way  to  his  carriage.  Austin  looked  in  his  kind,  gentle  face, 
and,  ignoring  Aunt  Maria,  said  :  — 

"  Sir  Rufus,  look  here.  Mr.  Hilton  wants  to  see  my  father, 
and  he  is  in  the  Hebrides.  Don't  you  think  I  might  go  up 
and  see  him  ?  " 

The  doctor  looked  kindly  on  him,  and  said,  "  Certainly.  It 
may  please  him.  It  will  do  no  man  any  harm  to  look  at  you, 
my  boy.  You  have  got  your  mother's  eyes.  Yes,  go  and  see 
him." 

And  so  Aunt  Maria  was  vanquished,  and  Austin  went  up 
stairs. 

It  was  hours  before  Mr.  Hilton  was  sensible  again.  He 
was  lying  in  an  uneasy  slumber.  Austin  came  into  the  room, 
went  out  again,  and  waited. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  59 

At  last  the  message  came.  He  went  in  and  found  the  old 
man  sitting  up  in  bed.  At  first  he  thought  he  was  sensible, 
but  the  first  words  Mr.  Hilton  showed  him  that  he  was 
wrong.  They  showed  him  that  Mr.  Hilton  mistook  him  for 
his  father. 

"  Ah,  Elliot,'*  he  said,  "  I  thought  you  would  not  miss  com 
ing  to  see  me  at  the  last,  —  you  who  stuck  to  me  through  it 
all.  And  so  you  have  gone  before,  eh  ?  " 

Austin  muttered  something  or  another. 

"  Yes,  you  are  like  the  others,  you  speak  inarticulately.  I 
can  hardly  catch  what  you  say.  I  shall  be  able  to  hear  you 
better  soon.  I  could  not  hear  them  very  well.  Why  were 
you  not  here  with  them  ?  " 

Austin  again  said  something.  He  was  beginning  to  get 
awe-struck. 

"  It  was  such  a  pleasant  meeting,"  continued  the  old  man. 
"  It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  My  daughter  Eleanor 
heard  me  laughing  with  them,  and  she  came  and  sat  on  the 
bed,  just  where  she  is  sitting  now,  and  listened  to  us  three. 
Did  you  not,  my  darling  ?  " 

Eleanor  said,  Yes,  that  she  had  sat  on  the  bed  at  half  past 
twelve  for  some  time,  and  she  grew  pale. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  she  sat  there  ;  and  who  do  you  think  sat 
in  those  two  chairs  on  each  side  of  the  bed  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell,"  faltered  Austin,  who  began  to  feel  his  hair 
creep.  For  the  old  man  before  him  was  talking  as  clearly 
as  ever,  and  yet  he  was  delirious,  and  did  not  know  him. 

"  Can't  tell,  foolish. man  !  "Why,  Jenkinson  sat  in  that  chair, 
and  Canning  in  that,  and  my  daughter  heard  us  laughing,  all 
three  of  us,  and  came  to  listen.  Is  it  not  so,  little  one  ?  " 

"  I  heard  you  laughing,  dear  father,  and  came  and  sat  on 
the  bed  to  listen." 

"  See.     She  confirms  me.     Jenkinson  had  on   his  brown 


CO  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

coat,  and  Canning  was  laughing  at  it.  But  the  strange  tiling 
was  the  alteration  in  them.  They  did  not  look  haggard,  and 
anxious,  and  worn  old  men,  as  they  looked  when  we  saw  them 
last,  but  they  had  round,  merry,  beardless  faces,  just  as  you 
have  now,  and  as  we  all  four  of  us  had  at  Christchurch  fifty- 
five  weary  years  agone. 

"  I  mentioned  that  unhappy  Austerlitz  affair  to  them,  but 
they  said  that  was  forgiven  years  ago  ;  that  where  they  were 
everything  was  forgiven,  and  that  the  tears  were  wiped 
from  all  eyes.  I  will  try  to  sleep  a  little  before  I  wake  and 
die." 

After  this  he  leant  against  his  pillow  for  a  minute,  and 
then,  with  an  anxious  look,  turned  towards  Austin,  and 
said,  — 

"Elliot!  Elliot!  are  you  there  still?" 

Austin  answered  promptly,  "  Yes."  It  was  no  use  unde 
ceiving  him  now. 

"  I  was  nearly,"  said  Mr.  Hilton,  "  forgetting  the  most  im 
portant  part  of  it.  Elliot,  do  you  think  your  son  will  marry- 
my  daughter  Eleanor  ?  " 

Austin  dared  say  nothing. 

"  I  can't  hear  you.  I  wish  he  would.  She  is  ugly,  but  she 
is  amazingly  gentle  and  good.  She  will  have  an  immense 
deal  of  money.  He  is  good,  clever,  and  ambitious.  With  her 
money,  he  will  be  Prime  Minister  if  he  sticks  to  work.  I 
wish  it  could  be  managed.  I  can't  hear  you." 

"  I  put  the  case  to  Jcnkinson  last  night.  He  said  she  was 
pretty  ;  but  he  is  a  fool,  she  is  not.  He  said  that  he  might  do 
anything  in  the  world  with  her  money.  Speak  louder. 

"  Without  her  money  he  will  be  an  office-hunter.  He  may 
have  the  world  at  his  feet  with  my  daughter's  money.  The 
doctor  told  me  that  that  old  rat,  Cecil,  had  got  him  home,  to 
throw  him  against  that  handsome  daughter  of  his,  and  use  him 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  Gl 

as  a  foil  to  bring  Mewstone  to  the  point.  You  must  know, 
Elliot,  that  he  is  only  fooling  the  poor  boy ;  but  if  he  marries 
my  girl,  he  may  have  his  revenge  on  fifty  prigs  like  Mewstone. 
See  to  it.  See  to  it.  Good  night." 

We  have  slightly  sketched  Mr.  Hilton's  career,  and  this  was 
the  end  of  it.  He  fell  asleep,  and  awoke  to  die. 

Let  the  cunning,  avaricious,  yet  generous  and  high-minded 
old  man  sleep  in  peace.  He  made  one  terrible  mistake  in  life, 
—  his  treasonable  investment  in  the  French  Funds.  He  said 
on  his  death-bed  that  "  Jenkinson  "  had  forgiven  him.  I  dare 
say  it  is  true. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

So,  after  Austin  went  home,  when  poor  Mr.  Hilton  was 
dead,  he  found  these  two  sentences  ringing  in  his  ears  :  "  He 
might  be  Prime  Minister  with  Eleanor's  money,"  and  "  That 
old  rat,  Cecil,  had  him  there  as  a  foil  to  bring  Mewstone  to 
the  point." 

About  the  first  of  these  sentences  I  have  nothing  to  say ; 
about  the  second  I  have  this  to  say,  —  that  whoever  put  that 
into  the  dying  man's  head  told,  unwittingly  perhaps,  a  very 
great  falsehood.  You  know  that  from  what  has  gone  before. 
If  ever  there  was  a  love-match  between  two  folks,  that  match 
was  between  Lord  and  Lady  Mewstone. 

We  have  very  little  more  to  do  with  them,  or  with  people 
in  their  rank  of  life.  Austin  was  getting  out  of  his  depth, 
and  we  must  follow  him.  But  Austin  was  bred  to  ambition 
from  his  cradle ;  and  that  visit  to  Mr.  Cecil's  house,  combined 
with  one  sentence  which  Mr.  Hilton  let  fall  on  his  death-bed, 
influenced  that  ambition,  whatever  there  may  have  been  of  it 


62  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

at  that  time,  tenfold,  although,  after  the  one  great  effort  of  his 
life,  that  ambition  went  to  sleep  again. 

For  he  began  to  think,  "  Who  was  this  Lord  Mewstone,  to 
come  cranking  in  that  style  ?  and  who  was  he,  Austin  Elliot, 
that  a  cunning  old  man  of  the  world  should  use  such  a  sting 
ing,  coarse  sentence  about  him  as  that  .  .  .  ?  "  * 

He  was  both  handsomer  and  cleverer  than  Lord  Mewstone ; 
he  knew  that  very  well,  as  did  every  one  else.  He  had  some 
private  fortune.  What  was  there  in  a  young  fellow  in  his 
position  which  made  these  men  of  the  world  treat  with  con 
tempt  the  idea  that  he  should  marry  her  ?  She  came  of  an 
old  county  family,  hitherto  not  ennobled  ;  so  did  he.  Her 
family  had  certainly  laid  house  to  house  and  field  to  field. 
His  family  had  done  rather  the  contrary. 

There  was  no  earthly  reason  for  it  save  this,  that  the  world 
—  that  world  in  the  dread  of  whose  opinion  his  father  had 
brought  him  up  —  would  n't  hear  of  such  a  thing.  And  then 
he  began  to  say,  "  What  right  had  the  world  —  ?  "  and  so  on. 
He  had  been  a  submissive  young  whelp  hitherto;  but  the 
world  had  (as  he  thought)  tried  to  take  his  bone  from  him, 
and  he  growled.  But,  like  a  good  dog,  he  soon  went  to  ken 
nel,  and  behaved  himself. 

Another  speech  of  the  old  man's  still  lingered  pleasantly  in 
his  ears,  —  "  He  might  be  Prime  Minister."  That  was  very 
pleasant  to  think  of.  He  might  be  a  greater  man  than  that 
prig  Mewstone  still.  His  degree  would  be  a  high  one,  there 
was  no  doubt  of  that.  The  world  was  before  him,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing ;  but  the  old  man  had  annexed  one  condition  to 
his  being  Prime  Minister,  and  that  was,  that  he  should  have 
Eleanor's  money. 

And  so  he  took  a  resolution,  not,  I  hope,  unworthy  of  him. 

*  I  have  abstained  from  printing  that  sentence:  it  is  as  well  to  avoid 
unnecessary  coarseness. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  03 

A  fortnight  after  Mr.  Hilton's  funeral,  he  ordered  his  horse  to 
be  saddled ;  he  mounted  it,  whistled  to  Robin,  and  rode  off 
through  the  pleasant  lanes  and  commons  of  Surrey  towards 
Esher,  where  Eleanor  was  staying,  accompanied  by  her  Aunt 
Maria. 

Sometimes,  under  very  happy  influences,  men  who  have 
just  had  a  terrible  disappointment  in  love  will  so  far  forget  it 
as  to  whistle,  and,  to  outward  eyes,  appear  for  a  short  time  as 
if  they  had  forgotten  it.  Such  was  the  case  now,  as  Austin 
rode  along  the  deep,  over-arching  lanes,  and  past  the  pleasant 
village  greens,  with  his  dog  bounding  before  him,  and  looking 
back  to  see  if  he  were  coming. 

He  had  not  ridden  very  far  before  he  came  to  a  deep,  dark 
lane,  with  a  silver  ford  at  the  lower  end,  and  a  clacking  mill, 
with  a  pretty  flower-garden,  and  bees.  It  was  a  very  beauti 
ful  place,  and  as  he  stopped  to  look  at  it,  he  heard  a  horseman 
riding  quickly  down  the  lane  towards  him. 

He  turned,  and  saw  approaching  him,  on  a  noble  horse,  a 
young  man  in  white  trousers,  gallantly  dressed,  who  waved  his 
hand  to  him.  Austin  took  off  his  hat  and  waved  it  in  return. 
The  next  moment,  the  new-comer  was  beside  him,  and  their 
hands  were  locked  together. 

"  Dear  Austin  !  "  said  the  one. 

"  My  dear  old  fellow  !  "  said  Austin. 

Perhaps  the  miller's  daughter,  looking  out  slyly  from  behind 
the  sunny  flower-beds,  faint  with  wall-flowers,  at  these  two 
noble  young  men,  who  rode, 

"  A  bow-shot  from  her  bower  eaves," 

in  the  summer  sunshine,  said  to  herself,  that  they  were  the 
handsomest  and  noblest  pair  of  brothers  she  had  ever  seen. 
Perhaps  she  talked  too  much  about  them  walking  home  from 
church  next  Sunday  with  her  sweetheart,  and  make  him  sulky 


Gi  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

about  them,  until  he  and  she  kissed  and  made  it  up  again  on 
the  Sabbath  eventide,  between  the  tangled  hedges  of  dogrose 
and  honeysuckle,  under  the  whispering  elm-trees.  Who 
knows  ?  But  whether  this  happened  or  not,  she  might  have 
walked  all  England  through,  and  not  found  a  handsomer  pair 
of  young  men  than  they. 

The  young  man  who  had  overtaken  Austin  was  Lord 
Charles  Barty,  the  friend  of  his  heart,  as  like  Austin  in  mind 
as  he  was  in  features.  Their  friendship  had  begun  at  school, 
and  had  never  waned,  had  never  had  a  shadow  cast  over  it  as 
yet,  and  it  lasted  on  to  the  very  end,  just  the  same,  without  let 
or  hindrance,  till  the  whole  business  was  done  and  finished,  and 
people  began  to  take  their  partners  for  the  next  dance. 

After  describing  Austin,  there  is  hardly  much  need  to  de 
scribe  his  friend,  for  they  were  not  unlike  in  face  at  this  time. 
They  were  both  blonde,  handsome  boys,  really  nothing  more. 
Not  a  hair  on  either  of  their  chins  which  they  dared  (not  be 
ing  in  the  cavalry)  to  let  grow.  If  both  faces  had  ever  de 
veloped,  we  should,  I  think,  have  found  that  Lord  Charles's 
face  was  the  most  aquiline  of  the  two,  and  that  his  eyebrows 
were  more  lofty.  But  there  was  not  much  character  in  either 
of  their  faces  just  now.  It  would  require,  as  any  one  might 
see,  a  great  deal  of  the  padding  to  come  off  those  faces,  before 
you  began  to  see  the  death's-head  underneath. 

"  I  know  where  you  are  going  to,  old  fellow,"  said  Lord 
Charles,  as  they  rode  together.  "  The  butler  told  me,  and  I 
came  on  after  you.  I  am  glad  you  are  going  there." 

"  I  am  only  going,  Charles,  to  prevent  my  ever  going  again, 
perhaps." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  going  to  give  up  Eleanor 
Hilton  ?  "  said  the  other,  looking  serious. 

Austin  told  him  what  had  passed  at  Mr.  Hilton's  death 
bed. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  G5 

Lord  Charles  rode  in  silence  a  little  way,  and  at  last  said : 

"  You  can't  be  wrong,  Austin,  because  you  are  acting  hon 
orably.  But  is  there  nothing  else  you  have  not  told  me  of  ?  " 

"  Of  course  there  is.  Your  letter  came  too  late,  and  all  the 
mischief  was  done.  All  the  whole  business  was  inextricably 
entangled  (he  used  four  or  five  participles,  which  would  not 
read  well,  and  so  we  put  it  like  that)  before  your  letter  arrived. 
And  besides,  before  your  letter  came,  Mewstone  was  there,  and 
I  saw  it  all." 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  by  Gad !  What  a  nuisance  it  was  you 
did  n't  know,"  said  Lord  Charles. 

"  Old  Hilton  said,  on  his  death-bed,  that  Mr.  Cecil  had  taken 
me  there  to  make  Mewstone  jealous." 

"  Who  said  that,  Austin  ?  "  said  Lord  Charles. 

«  Old  Mr.  Hilton,  on  his  death-bed  !  " 

"  Well,  '  de  mortuis,'  &c.  But  he  was  utterly  mistaken,  my 
boy.  In  his  sober  senses  he  never  coupled  such  a  vulgar  in 
trigue  as  that  with  the  name  of  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Cecil,  much 
as  he  might  hate  him.  There  were  never  two  fools  more  in 
love  with  one  another  since  the  world  began.  Will  you  let  me 
burn  your  wound  out,  my  boy  ?  It  will  hurt,  but  the  wound 
will  heal.  I  know  from  fifty  fellows  that  these  two  fell  in  love 
with  one  another  at  first  sight.  That  marriage  happens  to  be 
a  splendid  family  arrangement,  but  it  is  only  a  parcel  of  cack 
ling  idiots  who  say  that  it  was  made  up  from  family  motives 
only.  Let  us  be  just." 

"  But  why,  —  now  I  know  the  truth,  I  still  ask  why  was  I 
to  be  considered  so  far  below  her?"  And  poor  Austin  re 
peated  a  coarse  expression  of  the  old  man's,  alluded  to  before. 

"  Who  said  that  about  you  ?  " 

"  Old  Hilton." 

"  God  forgive  him,  Austin  ;  he  was  a  fool.  Austin,  that 
man  lost  every  friend  in  the  world  but  your  father,  through 


66  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

short-sighted  cunning.  Even  Lord  Liverpool  never  forgave 
him  some  dreadful  business  about  the  French  Funds  in  1806. 
You  must  not  think  of  the  words  of  a  soured,  ill-tempered  man 
like  that.  Mr.  Cecil  is  as  incapable  of  saying  or  thinking  such 
a  thing  as  my  own  mother.  And  as  for  Mary  Cecil,  she  would 
have  married  a  Welsh  curate  if  she  had  chosen.  But  now, 
old  fellow,  to  be  perfectly  just,  we  must  remember  this,  that  in 
the  world  the  marriage  of  Lord  Mewstone  and  Miss  Cecil  was 
as  well-known  a  fact  as  that  Graham  opens  the  letters.  Old 
Cecil  never  contemplated  the  possibility  of  your  being  ignorant 
of  it.  You  are  not  in  the  world  or  of  the  world  yet.  Neither 
am  I,  but  I  sit  and  listen  even  now.  I  hear  all  these  things  : 
you  do  not  as  yet." 

So  did  Lord  Charles  Barty  comfort  his  friend.  His  friend 
had  more  brains  than  he,  but  knew  less  on  some  points.  When 
people  begin  to  swim  on  the  edge  of  that  pool  which  is  called 
society,  they  should  take  care  not  to  get  out  of  their  depths  as 
did  Austin. 

"  How  glorious  it  is,"  said  he,  "  to  have  your  dear  old  voice 
in  my  ears  again,  to  give  me  comfort.  I  am  a  different  man 
again.  Tell  me,  old  Mentor,  who  is  Captain  Hertford?  " 

"  Have  you  met  him  there  ?  " 

Austin  told  him  how. 

"  He  is  Mewstone's  henchman.  I  believe  Mewstone  has 
been  fast,  very  fast.  Captain  Hertford  is  cruel,  brutal,  false, 
gluttonous,  and  treacherous." 

"  Then  why  has  Lord  Mewstone  anything  to  do  with 
him  ?  " 

"  Because  such  men  are  useful.  Let  bygones  be  bygones. 
I  really  know  nothing  more  than  this.  I  heard  that  character 
of  Hertford  from  my  blind  brother  Edward,  who  is  always 
right." 

"  But  does  '  the  world '  know  this  of  Captain  Hertford  ?  " 


AUSTIN   ELLIOT.  G7 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know  the  world  yet ;  but  I  know 
that  much  about  Captain  Hertford." 

"  The  world  seems  to  be  fond  of  easy-going,  Charles." 

"  Let  you  and  I  go  into  it  hand-in-hand  together,  my  boy, 
and  see  what  it  is  like.  And,  Austin,  I  begin  to  see  that  there 
is  another  great  world  down  below  us,  of  which  you  and  I 
know  nothing,  —  the  world  of  commerce  and  labor." 

"  You  are  beginning  to  find  that  out,  are  you  ? "  said 
Austin. 

"  I  think  I  am.  It  is  there  ;  and  it  is  beginning  to  mutter 
and  growl  under  our  feet  even  now.  Did  you  ever  read 
Humboldt's  Travels?" 

«  No." 

"  Nor  I ;  but  I  have  looked  into  them.  He  says,  in  the 
Andes,  that  the  earthquakes  are  preceded  by  the  most  terrible 
underground  thunder  ;  it  begins/  muttering  and  growling,  and 
then  it  swells  up  into  a  horrible  roar.  After  this  the  earth 
gapes,  and  those  fools  who  have  not  moved  their  property  and 
their  persons  are  swallowed  up.  Have  you  heard  this  under 
ground  thunder  yet  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  very  few  else,"  said  Austin. 

"  You  are  mistaken.  Many  have  heard  it,  and  are  prepar 
ing  to  move  their  goods*  All  we  want  is  a  leader,  to  show  us 
what  move  to  make." 

"  Is  there  such  a  one  ?  "  said  Austin. 

"  There  is." 

"  And  the  gentleman's  name  ?  "  said  Austin. 

"  Robert  Peel." 

"  And  you  have  found  that  out,  too,"  said  Austin.  "  By 
Jove  !  Charles,  I  believe  we  have  only  one  heart  between  the 
pair  of  us." 

"  Hurrah !  "  cried  Lord  Charles  Barty,  breaking  into  a  mad 
gallop  across  a  common,  and  waving  his  white  hat  over  his 


63  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

head.  "  Come  on,  friend  of  my  soul,  and  let  us  follow  him 
through  it  all,  —  through  misrepresentation,  through  obloquy, 
down  to  political  death  itself,  which  will  only  end  in  a  more 
glorious  political  resurrection.  ^  An  adventure,  Sir  Knight,  an 
adventure.  A  Peel !  a  Peel !  to  the  rescue !  Who  is  the 
laggard  that  won't  win  his  spurs  in  such  a  cause  ?  Peel  to 
the  rescue.  Hurrah  ! " 

Now  it  so  befell  that  there  were  a  great  many  geese  on  this 
common,  over  which  Lord  Charles  Barty  rode  so  madly,  cry 
ing  out  the  name  of  a  certain  right  honorable  baronet ;  and  he 
had  the  misfortune  to  ride  over  one  of  these  geese,  and  on  his 
return  had  to  pay  five  shillings  to  a  vociferous  old  woman  who 
saw  him  do  it.  But  of  all  the  geese  on  that  common,  were 
there,  do  you  think,  two  greater  geese  than  Austin  Elliot  and 
Lord  Charles  Barty?  But  that  is  exactly  the  sort  of  stuff 
that  some  young  fellows  talked  in  '44.  We  are  all  much 
wiser  now,  are  we  not? 


CHAPTER    X. 

THEIR  gallop  brought  them  across  the  common  and  to  the 
house  where  Eleanor  was  staying  with  Aunt  Maria.  Here 
Austin's  friend  left  him,  and  went  to  an  inn,  and  put  up  his 
horse  to  wait  for  him ;  and  Austin  rang  at  the  bell. 

The  house  was  a  great  red-brick  house,  with  narrow  win 
dows,  standing  a  long  way  back,  with  a  wall  and  two  carnage- 
gates  beside  the  road.  There  were  also  two  cedars,  a  big  bell 
in  a  little  pent-house  just  inside  the  gate,  and  a  big  dog,  who 
barked  when  you  rang  it.  That  house  will  be  taken  by  a  doc 
tor,  and  made  a  private  madhouse  of  some  day,  as  the  march 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  CO 

of  intellect  goes  on,  and  London  expands.  If  it  were  ten  miles 
nearer  town,  it  would  be  snapped  up  at  once  for  that  purpose. 
If  you  ask,  "  Why  for  a  madhouse,  not  for  a  school  ?  "  the 
answer  is,  that  the  grounds  are  too  large  for  a  schoolmaster, 
and  until  they  began  to  build  it  in,  and  take  the  land  off  his 
hands,  it  would  n't  pay  him.  The  Chouse  before  which  Austin 
stood  will  become  either  a  madhouse  or  an  institution  of  some 
sort  or  another. 

A  great  deal  might  be  said  about  these  old  suburban 
houses.  The  author  would  like  nothing  better  than  to  dwell 
on  their  peculiarities,  but  this  is  not  the  place  for  doing  so. 
He  begs  the  reader's  patience  for  only  a  very  few  words 
about  them.  They  were  built,  most  of  them,  in  the  beginning 
of  last  century,  and  have  been  degraded  and  degraded  from 
one  purpose  to  another,  each  one  lower  than  the  last,  until 
they  are  pulled  down  because  they  interfere  with  a  new  ter 
race  or  square.  The  general  fate  which  awaits  all  of-  them  is 
degradation  and  death ;  but  sometimes  they  are  preserved 
even  in  the  midst  of  the  great  flood  of  bricks,  and  then  they 
fetch  high  rents. 

Did  any  reasonable  man  ever  go  to  walk  through  the  west 
ern  part  of  Chelsea  on  to  Walham  Green  and  Fulham,  if  he 
could  manage  to  walk  anywhere  else?  Most  likely  not. 
And  yet  there  are  some  houses  standing  about  there  which 
will  make  a  man  think  of  if  he  choose  to  think.  Take  one 
of  those  suburban  houses  built  about  1700,  and  think  about 
it,  and  people  it  over  again  with  three  generations.  Take  a 
long,  low,  back-lying  house  in  the  King's  Road,  Chelsea,  in 
front  of  which  they  have  built  shops.  That  was  once  a  quiet 
gentleman's  house,  with  elm-trees  round  it,  where  several 
generations  of  children  tumbled  down-stairs  and  fell  out  of 
window,  and  lost  their  tops  and  balls  in  the  water-butt,  and 
laughed  and  cried,  and  quarrelled  and  made  it  up,  until  they 


70  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

grew  to  handsome  young  men  and  women.  How  many  pairs 
of  happy  lovers  went  a-courting  in  that  summer-house  at  the 
end  of  the  garden  !  —  before  Mr.  Mullins  took  it  and  made  a 
madhouse  of  it,  and  the  woman  who  thought  she  was  queen 
took  possession  of  the  summer-house,  and  hunted  us  boys  out 

of  it  when  we  dared  go  in ;  and  before  they  put  Miss  II , 

a  strong,  red-faced  woman,  with  a  big  throat  and  thick  lips, 
into  the  old  nursery,  where  she  screamed  and  yelled  and  tore 
night  and  day  for  above  a  year,  till  it  pleased  God  to  put  an 
end  to  her  misery. 

And  when  the  madhouse  was  removed  to  Putney,  Waterer 
took  the  house  and  grounds,  and  exhibited  his  rhododendrons 
and  azaleas  there ;  and  all  society  came  down  to  look  at  them, 
and  the  line  of  carriages  extended  far  up  and  down  the  King's 
Road.  Then  the  dreary  old  garden,  in  which  the  mad-woman 
used  to  walk  so  wearily  up  and  down,  was  filled  with  a  blaze 
of  flowering  American  plants.  And  on  the  very  same  ground 
where  the  author,  a  frightened  boy,  looking  over  the  palings, 
has  seen  poor  Miss  H ,  in  her  strait-waistcoat,  cast  her 
self  screaming  down  among  the  cabbage-plants,  and  bite  the 
earth  with  her  teeth,  —  on  that  very  same  ground  all  the  dan 
dies  and  beauties  of  London  were  walking  and  talking.  The 
last  I  know  of  that  piece  of  ground  is,  that  the  man  who  lets 
flys  had  laid  it  down  in  oats.  Sic  transit,  &c.  That  is  the 
history  of  one  suburban  house,  carefully  told,  and  there  are 
very  many  with  far  stranger  histories  than  that. 

The  study  of  these  old  red-brick  suburban  houses  has  given 
the  author  so  much  pleasure  in  his  time  that  he  has  tried  to 
give  the  reader  some  interest  in  them,  and  make  him  partake 
of  the  same  pleasure.  This  is  the  only  time  he  means  to 
offend  in  this  way  in  this  story ;  and  so  he  casts  himself  on 
his  reader's  mercy. 

Austin,  who  had  dismounted,  rang  the  bell  again,  and  again 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  71 

the  big  dog  barked :  this  time,  also,  a  door  was  opened ;  and 
Austin  heard  a  man,  apparently  a  footman,  say,  "  Four  ounces 
is  four,  and  two  quarters  is  a  tizzy,  and  a  bob  lost  tossing 
makes  two  half-bulls  and  a  bender,  —  don't  it,  you  aggravating 
minx  ?  "  And  then,  instead  of  coming  to  Austin's  assistance, 
Austin  heard  him  shut  the  door  again.  , 

So  he  had  to  ring  once  more.  This  time  he  heard  the  door 
opened  again,  and  footsteps  approaching.  Immediately  the 
wicket  in  the  carriage-gate  was  thrown  back,  and  in  the 
aperture  stood  a  little,  lean  old  footman,  with  a  cross  face  and 
very  gray  hair,  who  cried  out,  "  Now  then,  young  fellow  ! " 

"  Now  then,  young  fellow,"  said  Austin,  "  how  about  the 
two  half-bulls  and  the  bender  ?  " 

The  old  man  laughed.  "  It's  them  gals,  Mr.  Austin,  got  a 
shilling  of  mine  among  un  somewhere,  and  wants  to  bounce 
me  out  of  it.  Told  me  you  was  the  baker's  boy,  too.  Come 
in  afore  she  sees  you,  else  she  '11  not  be  at  home.  She  is  galli 
vanting  in  the  paddock  with  Captain  Hertford"." 

"  The  deuce !  "  thought  Austin  ;  "  who  is  Captain  Hert 
ford  ?  "  he  said. 

"  The  gentleman  as  you  met  in  Wales  the  week  afore  last, 
when  you  fell  in  love  with  Miss  Cecil,  and  as  you  travelled 
with  and  told  all  about  it,  and  as  come  and  told  we  all  about 
it.  That 's  about  who  Captain  Hertford  is,  Master  Austin." 

"  But  what  is  he  doing  here  ?  "  asked  Austin,  only  half 
aloud. 

"  Making  love  to  the  old  woman,"  said  the  old  man,  speak 
ing  very  loud  and  plain. 

"  Confound  you,  James,  don't  be  a  ridiculous  fellow,"  said 
Austin,  laughing.  "  Making  love  to  Aunt  Maria  ?  " 

"That's  about  the  size  on  it,"  said  James.  "Now  come 
quick  into  the  stable-yard  afore  she  sees  you.  You  would  n't 
see  much  of  Miss  Eleanor  if  she  caught  siirht  on  yc 


72  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  How  is  Aunt  Maria  ?  "  said  Austin,  in  the  stable-yard, 
after  a  groom  had  gone  off  with  his  horse. 

"  Owdacious,"  said  James.  "  Drat  her,  she  always  were 
owdacious,  worn't  she  ?  "  he  continued,  scratching  his  head. 
When  he  saw  Austin  frown  and  shake  his  head :  "  I  mean  she 
always  were  a  owdacious  fine  woman  of  her  age." 

"  Where  did  you  say  she  was  ?  "  said  Austin. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  said  James,  getting  desperate  and  rebel 
lious,  "  why,  she  's  up-stairs,  and  she  's  down-stairs,  and  she  's 
in  my  lady's  chamber  ;  all  three  at  once  sometimes.  Slie  al 
ways  were  a  deuce  of  a  woman  to  come  round  a  corner  on 
you  sharp  ;  but  since  the  will  was  read,  she  shall  come  round 
a  corner  again  any  woman  in  England  for  a  new  hat,  or  a 
tripe  supper  for  eight.  The  gals  is  losing  flesh  over  her. 
They  was  giggling  up-stairs  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  I  see 
her  come  slipping  out  of  the  drawing-room  like  a  old  pussy-cat, 
and  so  I  hits  myself  down  the  back-stairs  with  a  tray  full  of 
glasses,  and  brings  her  that  way,  and  now  the  ungrateful 
minxes  wants  to  do  me  out  of  a  shilling." 

"  I  hope  you  caught  it,  sir  ?  "  said  Austin. 

"  Catch  it  ?  There,  let 's  talk  about  something  else,  Master 
Austin.  However,  I  can  always  stop  her  when  I  have  had 
enough.  Come  on." 

"  I  hope  you  did  n't  answer  her." 

"  I  only  told  her  not  to  regard  my  feelings,  for  that  I  was 
used  to  the  ways  of  old  people,  and  that  when  people  came  to 
her  time  of  life,  they  naturally  got  brittle  in  the  temper,  the 
same  as  they  lost  their  teeth." 

"  How  could  you  say  such  a  thing,  James  ?  You  know 
if  you  go  on  like  that  she  will  be  obliged  to  ask  Miss 
Eleanor  to  discharge  you.  And  I  warn  you  that,  deeply 
attached  as  I  and  she  are  to  you,  I  could  not  say  a  word 
in  your  favor." 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  73 

"  She  '11  never  ask  Miss  Eleanor  to  do  that.  I  know  too 
much."  And  so  saying,  he  opened  the  drawing-room  door, 
and  announced 

"Master  Austin." 

Eleanor  rose  up  and  came  towards  him ;  she  held  out  her 
hands  towards  him,  but  that  was  not  enough ;  she  took  both 
his  hands  in  hers,  but  that  was  not  enough  either ;  so  the  poor 
innocent,  silly  little  body  burst  out  a-crying  so  piteously  that 
Austin  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"  I  am  so  miserable,  dear  brother,"  she  said.  "  How  kind 
of  you  to  come  to  me." 

"  And  I,  dear  sister,  am  so  unhappy  too,"  said  Austin,  who, 
ten  minutes  before,  had  been  galloping  and  shouting  with  Lord 
Charles  Barty  across  the  common.  He  did  not  mean  to  be 
hypocritical  or  untrue.  He  did  really  think  he  was  unhappy, 
and  so  he  was. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  Austin  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  ask  for 
a  very  selfish  reason.  If  you  will  tell  me  your  sorrows,  I 
shall  certainly  forget  mine.  So  you  have  been  staying  at  the 
Cecils  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"And  what  did  you  think  of —  Ah,  Austin,  you  wrote 
me  no  merry  letters  from  there.  You  would  not  confide  in 
me  about  that.  I  expected  a  long  letter,  filled,  as  usual,  with 
wild  admiration  for  the  last  ineligible  young  lady  ;  but  when 
none  came,  I,  knowing  Fanny  Cecil,  knew  what  had  happened 
at  once." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Knew  that  you  had  fallen  in  love  for  the  first  time  in  your 
life." 

"  By  Jove  !  Eleanor,  you  are  right.  How  you  guessed  that 
I  cannot  tell." 

"  If  these  two  —  this  handsome,  noble  young  lad,  and  this 

4 


74  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

quiet,  dark-haired  girl  —  had  at  that  moment  been  in  the 
Palace  of  Truth,  Eleanor  would  have  answered,  — 

"  Because  I  have  loved  you  and  none  other  ever  since  I 
could  love  any  one,  and  because  I  shall  never  love  any  other 
man  as  I  do  you  to  the  day  of  my  death." 

But  they  were  in  an  old  red-brick  house  on  a  common  in 
Surrey,  and  Aunt  Maria  was  plainly  to  be  seen  in  the  paddock 
walking  with  Captain  Hertford.  They  were  in  a  palace  which 
was  not  of  truth,  and  so  she  only  said,  — 

"  No  one  could  doubt  it  who  knew  Fanny  Cecil.  I  eonid 
have  told  you  that  she  was  to  marry  Lord  Mewstone.  I 
would  gladly  have  saved  you  this,  brother,  but  I  never  dreamt 
that  you  were  to  be  thrown  against  her  in  that  way.  When  I 
heard  you  were  there,  I  dreaded  that  it  would  happen. 
Why  did  rrot  Charles  Barty  warn  you  ?  " 

"  He  did  ;  but  his  warning  came  too  late." 

"  Ah !  he  was  at  Turin.  Austin,"  she  said,  very  quietly, 
"I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Austin  looked  up  at  her.  Her  hands  were  quietly  folded 
before  her,  her  eyes  were  more  brilliant  and  prominent  than 
usual,  and  she  was  very  pale.  Her  mouth  was  tightly  set, 
and  there  was  not  a  twitch  in  the  muscles  of  it.  The  upper 
lip  and  the  chin,  both  too  short  at  ordinary  times,  seemed 
shorter  than  ever  now.  Austin  began  to  see  what  she  would 
be  like  when  she  was  an  old  woman. 

Eleanor  loved  Austin  so  deeply,  as  never  man  was  loved 
before,  she  thought.  Better  than  herself  by  far ;  for  by  the 
very  slightest  management  she  might  marry  him,  advise  him, 
feed  his  ambition,  give  him  wealth  and  ambition,  triumph  with 
him  in  success,  console  him  in  disappointment,  get  him  taught 
the  ways  of  the  world,  bring  him  into  society  by  her  wealth, 
—  nay,  more  than  all,  teach  him  to  worship  at  the  same  altar 
with  her,  to  love  the  same  God,  to  trust  to  the  same  hope  of 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  75 

salvation,  —  she  would  do  none  of  these  things  ;  she  was  going 
to  give  him  his  dismissal  forever,  —  with  a  slight  reservation. 

And  why  ?  Because  Austin  could  never  love  her.  Because, 
if  he  did  not  love  her,  he  would  merely  marry  her  for  her 
money.  And  then  the  consciousness  that  he  was  untrue  to 
himself  would  prey  on  him,  and  render  him  miserable,  lower 
his  moral  tone,  and  make  him  feel  that  his  whole  career  was  a 
false  one. 

That  is  the  way  she  reasoned,  —  that  was  the  way  she 
accounted  for  her  conduct.  She  was  one  of  the  best  and 
noblest  little  women  that  ever  lived  (as  the  reader  will  con 
fess  when  he  has  read  the  book  to  the  end)  ;  she  reasoned  in 
this  way,  —  it  was  satisfactory  reasoning  enough ;  but,  never 
theless,  her  own  soul  said  something  else,  and  would  make 
itself  heard ;  it  said :  "  He  shall  love  me,  and  woo  me,  before 
he  win  me  ! "  But  she  said,  — 

"  Austin,  do  you  remember  my  father's  death-bed  ?  " 

He  said,  "  Yes  ! "  He  could  hardly  believe  that  she  could 
anticipate  the  very  matter  on  which  he  was  ready  to  speak. 
But  she  did  so. 

"  I  can  speak  to  you  quite  openly,  now  your  heart  is  so 
deeply  engaged.  You  must  forget  everything  that  passed, 
everything  he  said,  every  hint  he  gave,  or  we  must  part  here, 
once  and  for  all." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Austin.  "  Things  might  have  been  which 
can  never  be  now.  My  heart  is  gone  ;  I  came  to  tell  you  so. 
I  came  to  tell  you  that  I  would  be  your  brother,  your  servant ; 
would  go  through  the  world  at  your  side  ;  that  your  husband 
should  be  the  friend  of  my  heart ;  but  that  your  wealth  alone 
would  render  it  impossible  for  me  to  be  more.  Therefore, 
having  said  this  to  one  another,  we  can  now  go  through  the 
world  hand  in  hand,  on  just  the  same  terms  as  we  have 
hitherto  done." 


76  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  We  will,  Austin.  I  will  be  Aunt  Eleanor  to  your  children, 
and  Sister  Eleanor  to  you ;  but  don't  leave  me  all  alone.  You 
are  the  only  friend  I  have.  I  dare  talk  to  you  now,  brother, 
you  see." 

So  they  talked  confidentially,  till  there  was  an  alarm  of 
Aunt  Maria,  and  then  Austin  went  away ;  this  highly  platonic 
arrangement  being  brought  to  a  satisfactory  termination. 

A  very  satisfactory  one,  indeed.  Eleanor,  two  minutes  after 
wards,  had  locked  herself  into  her  bedroom,  and  thrown  her 
self  on  her  bed,  in  a  wild  passion  of  tears,  wishing  that  she 
never  had  been  born ;  wishing  that  Austin  had  never  seen 
Miss  Cecil;  wishing  that  she  might  die  in  her  grief;  doing 
everything,  in  short,  but  blaming  Austin.  And  there  she  lay, 
till  the  tempest  of  her  grief  began  to  get  less  strong,  and  its 
gusts  less  frequent  and  violent,  and  at  last  raised  her  weary- 
worn  little  face  up,  and  prepared  to  go  down-stairs,  and  be 
furiously  scolded  by  her  cruel  old  aunt.  Yes,  this  half  of 
the  arrangement  was  very  satisfactory ;  now  for  the  other. 

When  Austin  got  back  to  Lord  Charles  Barty,  he  looked  as 
black  as  thunder.  He  quarrelled  with  his  horse,  he  quarrelled 
with  his  dog,  and  was  very  much  inclined  to  quarrel  with  Lord 
Charles  ;  but  that  was  not  an  easy  matter  at  any  time,  or  by 
any  person.  So  he  contented  himself  with  sulking  all  the  way 
home,  and  giving  short  answers.  Lord  Charles  was  surprised 
at  this.  He  had  never  seen  Austin  cross  so  long  before.  He 
did  what  every  good  fellow  ought  to  do,  when  his  friend  is 
angry :  he  appeared  concerned  and  anxious,  but  spoke  of  in 
different  matters,  leaving  Austin  to  open  his  grief  to  him. 

When  they  came  to  Mortlake,  Austin  said,  "  Let  us  ride  on 
to  London,  Charles." 

"  Yes,  suppose  we  do.  I  should  like  it.  Will  you  take 
Robin  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.     You  can  trust  him  anywhere." 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  77 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  wise  fellow,  that  Robin,"  said  Lord  Charles. 
" '  Way  forrid,  Min  ! '  that 's  what  the  Scotch  shepherds  say 
to  their  dog.  See,  he  is  gone  away  like  a  thunderbolt  after 
imaginary  sheep.  He  is  a  fine  fellow." 

"  I  say,  Charles." 

"Ay,  ay!" 

"  I  have  made  such  a  cursed  fool  of  myself." 

So  the  second  half  of  the  grand  platonic  arrangement 
seemed  far  from  satisfactory  also. 


CHAPTEK   XI. 


LATE  as  it  was,  Austin  and  his  friend  posted  off  to  join 
their  reading  party  at  Bangor,  and  with  them  went  the  dog 
Robin,  of  course. 

There  were  nine  of  them  in  that  reading  party,  and  they 
spent  that  summer,  —  one  of  those  happy  golden  periods 
which  surely  comes  at  least  once  in  a  man's  life,  unless  he  be 
an  exceptionally  unfortunate  one.  Very  unlucky  must  the 
man  be  who  has  no  golden  age  to  look  back  at  fondly  in 
after  years.  Dull  must  be  the  life  of  a  child  who  cannot  say, 
"  Once,  in  spring-time,  I  went  into  a  meadow,  and  gathered 
cowslips." 

Lucky,  again  —  fortunate  beyond  most  men  —  must  these 
nine  have  been,  if  any  other  period  ever  came,  in  any  of  their 
lives,  sufficiently  happy  to  make  them  forget  this  summer  of 
theirs  at  Bangor,  in  1844 ;  a  time  of  youth,  health,  hope, 
ambition,  and  friendship.  Snowdon  was  behind  them,  the  sea 
before,  Anglesey  sleeping  in  the  sunshine,  the  Ormshead 
floating  like  a  blue  mist  in  the  horizon,  and  Pemnaenmawr 


78  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

towering  black  and  awful  above  the  little  white  farm  in  the 
wood  at  Aber.  Golden  sands,  blue  sea,  and  slow-sailing 
summer-clouds  aloft. 

Were  they  idle  ?  O  dear,  yes.  Seven  of  them,  God 
bless  them,  were  horribly  idle.  The  good  Professor  scold 
ed,  predicted  that  they  would  all  be  either  "  gulfed "  or 
"  ploughed " ;  said  he  sincerely  hoped  that  they  would  be  ; 
said  that  the  foundations  of  justice  would  be  sapped  at  the 
root  if  they  were  n't :  but  it  was  no  use  ;  they  all  loved  him 
too  well  to  mind  him.  They  were  very  good  for  a  few  days 
after  one  of  these  terrible  jobations ;  but  then  two  of  them 
would  be  missing  at  their  hour,  the  Professor  would  go  to 
their  lodgings,  and  find  from  their  landlady,  that  some  idle 
villain  of  a  university  man,  who  was  not  going  to  be  in  the 
October  term,  had  arrived  promiscuously  in  the  town,  and  had 
induced  them  to  go  off  to  Llyn  Ogwen,  or  some  of  those 
places,  the  names  of  which  the  good  Professor  will  hate  to  his 
dying  day. 

Hayton  and  Dayton  went  and  lodged  at  Garth,  because  it 
was  out  of  the  wTay,  inconvenient,  and  dirty,  and  a  mile  from 
the  scene  of  tuition.  Hayton,  who  was  fat,  fished  for  four 
months  from  the  end  of  the  pier,  and  caught  nothing,  but 
smoked  8  Ib.  9  oz.  of  tobacco.  He  also,  during  this  time, 
made  love  to  Maria  Williams,  the  pilot's  daughter,  and  pro 
posed  to  her  on  Michaelmas-day,  after  the  goose  dinner,  on 
which  occasion  she  refused  him  in  favor  of  Owen  Owens,  a 
young  ship-carpenter.  Dayton,  meanwhile,  bought  the  yacht 
Arhydanos,  of  1  cwt.  register  ;  length  between  perpendiculars, 
6  feet  4  inches  ;  extreme  breadth,  18  inches  ;  depth  of  hold, 
2  feet  6  inches  ;  and  essayed  to  drown  himself  therein ;  and 
did  not  succeed,  merely  because,  whenever  he  put  forth  into 
the  deep,  three  or  four  small  fishing-boats  used  to  follow  him, 
and  when  he  was  capsized,  —  which  happened  every  time  but 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  79 

one  when  he  went  out,  —  used  to  pick  him  up,  and  fight  for 
him,  at  the  rate  of  half  a  crown  a  head  per  man,  and  a  shilling 
for  boys  ;  being  at  the  rate  of  thirty  shillings  a  voyage. 

Horton  and  Morton  did  not  live  in  Bangor,  but  stayed  at 
Aber,  five  miles  off,  because  it  was  out  of  the  way  and  more 
expensive ;  and  they  got  so  attached  to  the  good  people  there, 
and  the  good  people  there  so  attached  to  them,  that  they 
refused  to  move  into  the  town,  though  the  Professor  ful 
minated  "about  it.  They  were  the  most  tiresome  follows  of 
all ;  for,  not  content  with  idling  about,  shooting  sea-gulls  and 
stints  themselves,  they  would  think  nothing  of  getting  half  the 
party  to  dine  with  them,  and,  after  dinner,  of  seducing  the 
whole  lot  of  them  up  the  glen  by  the  waterfall,  and  over  the 
summit  of  Carnedd  Llewellyn  to  Capel  Curig,  a  trifling  dis 
tance  of  fifteen  miles  or  so,  and  sending  them  home  to  Bangor 
after  a  couple  of  days,  by  Nant  Frangon. 

The  other  seven  lived  in  Bangor,  and  were  not  so  intolera 
bly  idle  as  these  two.  Only  two  of  the  whole  party  read 
really  steadily  and  well,  and  those  two  were  Austin  Elliot  and 
Lord  Charles  Barty. 

Was  Austin  happy?  I  am  afraid  so,  although  he  woukt 
have  been  very  angry  if  any  one  had  accused  him  of  it.  He 
was,  by  way  of  being  miserable.  He  thought  he  was,  but  he 
was  quite  mistaken.  In  the  first  place,  he  was  getting  over 
the  disappointment  about  Miss  Cecil ;  and  in  the  next,  there  is 
pretty  nearly  as  much  pleasure  as  pain  in  an  affair  of  that 
sort.  For  is  that  strange,  wild,  yearning  jealousy  pain  ? 
Catch  me  a  man,  a  penniless,  friendless  man,  with  all  his 
hopes  broken,  and  all  his  friends  gone,  and  ask  him.  Ask 
him  what  he  would  give  to  feel  his  bitterest  disappointment 
of  this  kind  over  again. 

No,  he  was  not  unhappy.  A  nine  days'  affair  of  the  kind 
does  not,  in  this  barbarous  island,  hit  so  very  hard.  The  more 


80  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

refined  French  smother  themselves  with  charcoal ;  or,  as  two 
of  them  did  a  few  years  ago,  take  a  warm  bath,  put  on  a  clean 
shirt,  and  blow  their  brains  out  simultaneously,  leaving  behind 
them  what  we  barbarians  would  call  a  horribly  blasphemous 
paper.  But  Austin's  class  was  nearly  safe,  and  so  he  read 
hard,  and  made  it  so. 

This  visit  of  his  to  Tyn  y  Rhaiadr  was  a  very  important 
one ;  for  he  not  only  fell  in  love  with  Miss  Cecil,  in  itself  an 
important  affair,  but  he  also  made  the  acquaintance  of  Captain 
Hertford,  and,  moreover,  had  the  dog  Robin  given  to  him  as 
a  present. 

They  had  been  at  Bangor  about  a  month,  when  one  day 
Austin  went  out  to  Aber,  in  the  afternoon,  with  Horton  and 
Morton,  for  he  was  rather  fagged  with  work,  and  left  Lord 
Charles  at  home  at  Bangor  over  his  Pindar.  They  went  a- 
fishing  for  the  smallest  sample  of  trout  I  know  of  on  the  face 
of  the  whole  globe,  that  evening,  and  caught  a  few  of  them ; 
and  in  the  evening  stood  under  the  highest  waterfall  in  Wales, 
and  saw  the  lace-like  threads  of  water  streaming  over  the  black 
rocks  from  a  height  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  feet,  and  after 
that  turned  merrily  homewards. 

Between  the  waterfall  and  the  sea  at  Aber  is  one  of  the 
most  extraordinary  shoreless  chasms  I  have  ever  seen.  The 
stream  runs  through  it,  but,  as  we  used  to  believe,  no  man  has 
ever  been  through  it  since  Creation.  It  is  half  a  mile  long,  a 
succession  of  shoreless  lyns  and  slippery  rocks.  And  Austin, 
coming  to  the  upper  end  of  it,  proposed  to  swim  through.  He 
never  did,  though  some  one  else  has  actually  done  so  since  ; 
for  as  he  was  beginning  to  undress  himself,  with  that  eager 
ness  and  haste  with  which  young.  British  and  Irish  men  of 
three-and-twenty  hail  the  opportunity  of  drowning  themselves, 
or  breaking  their  necks,  Robin  bounded  joyously  forward,  and 
some  one  appeared  coming  rapidly  towards  them.  They  saw, 
in  a  few  minutes,  that  it  was  Lord)  Charles  Barty. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  81 

"  Austin,"  he  said,  breathlessly,  "  the  Lords  nave  reversed 
the  sentence  of  the  lower  courts,  and  acquitted  O'Connell. 
The  only  one  of  the  four  who  went  for  him  was  Brougham." 

"  I  told  you  so,"  said  Austin.  "  What  a  noble  way  of 
smothering  him.  And  old  Brougham  against  him,  eh  ?  Lord ! 
what  a  world  it  is  ;  —  old  Brougham,  eh  ?  Conceive  the  sly 
ness  of  the  man,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  impute  low  motives,"  said  Lord  Charles  ;  "  it 
is  the  habit  of  a  young  and  unformed  mind." 

"  Go  to  Bath,"  said  Austin.  "  I  say,  I  am  going  to  swim 
through  this  chasm." 

"  No,  don't  be  an  ass,"  said  the  other.  "  Come  and  walk 
with  me  ;  I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

"  So  you  did  n't  come  all  this  way  to  tell  me  about  Dan, 
then  ?  "  said  Austin. 

"  No,"  said  he.  "  I  got  tired  of  my  work,  and  I  thought  of 
you  and  the  other  fellows  having  a  jolly  evening  here,  and  I 
came  out  in  a  car.  Besides,  I  have  seen  some  one  since  you 
left." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Why,  Lord  and  Lady  Mewstone.  They  have  come  from 
Chester,  and  are  going  on  to  Tyn  y  Bliaiadr  to-morrow  morn 
ing.  He  has  called  at  your  lodgings,  and  he  is  going  to  call 
again ;  and,  —  and  I  thought  I  would  come  out  and  tell  you, 
old  fellow  ;  that  is  all." 

"  By  Jove,  you  are  a  good  fellow,"  said  Austin ;  "  what  the 
deuce  should  I  do  without  you  ?  What  had  I  better  do  ?  " 

"  Let  us  stay  here.  You  don't  know  what  Hertford  may 
have  said,  or  what  she  has  heard.  As  for  him,  his  nose  is 
far  too  high  in  the  air  for  him  to  suppose  that  you  had  ever 
thought  of  her  otherwise  than  as  a  goddess.  Hertford  would 
never  have  -dared  to  let  him  hear  anything.  If  he  had,  he 
would  not  be  so  affectionate." 

4*  F 


82  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  But  do  you  think  that  she  ever  guessed  ?  " 

"  Lord  knows  !  I  don't  understand  women.  Hertford  knows 
that  you  were  deeply  taken  with  her.  How  do  you  or  I  know 
whether  he  has  n't  used  that  knowledge  to  keep  his  position 
with  her  ?  How  do  you  know,  that  in  a  gentle  way,  he  has 
not  let  her  know  that  he  knows  it,  and  so  avoid  the  conge 
which  he  would  most  certainly  get,  the  moment  she  came  into 
power  ?  She  is  afraid  of  Mewstone,  —  everybody  is  afraid  of 
him.  I  would  n't  go  back  to  Bangor  to-night.  Stay  here  till 
they  are  clear  off;  it  won't  do  you  any  good  to  see  her  again  ; 
and  if  she  sees  you,  and  if  Hertford  has  been  saying  anything 
(may  the  deuce  confound :  him  !)  she  might  look  confused,  or 
something.  So  let 's  stay  here  at  Lewis's  and  have  a  rubber." 

And  so  they  stayed  and  had  a  rubber,  and  poor  Austin 
played  very  bad,  trumped  his  partner's  (of  course  Lord 
Charles's,  for  people  generally  pay  dearly  for  actions  of  good 
nature  in  small  things)  knave,  led  out  strong  suits  of  trumps 
without  any  suit  to  follow,  "  bottled "  them  when  his  partner 
led  them  first  time  round,  drew  two  trumps  for  one,  —  did,  in 
fact,  everything  but  revoke,  from  which  he  was  kept  by  a  mere 
brute  instinct.  Instead  of  thinking  of  his  cards,  he  was  think 
ing  of  Lady  Mewstone,  about  whom  he  had  as  much  business 
to  think  as  of  Noah's  eldest  daughter,  about  whose  existence 
we  have  no  information.  But  he  had  a  patient,  affectionate 
partner,  who  only  laughed  louder  at  each  blunder.  Lord 
Charles  would  do  more  for  him  than  lose  three-and-twenty 
shillings.  Austin  paid  him  for  all  his  affectionate  forethought 
one  clay.  We  shall  see  how. 

The  next  morning,  Lord  and  Lady  Mewstone  had  disap 
peared  in  a  cloud  -of  dust  towards  Caernarvon.  And  Austin 
and  his  friend  walked  into  Bangor,  in  time  to  take  their  hour 
with  the  good  Professor. 

The  next  night  but  one,  Austin  sat  up  very  late  over  some 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  83 

work.  He  had  hardly  been  in  bed  more  than  three  hours, 
when  he  was  awoke  by  being  shaken,  and,  turning  over,  saw 
Lord  Charles  standing  over  him. 

'•  Let  me  sleep,"  he  said,  "  I  am  so  tired.  I  have  hardly 
got  to  bed." 

u  Get  up,  Austin,"  said  the  other.  "  We  have  been  down 
to  bathe.  There  is  a  screw  steamer  coming  up  the  Straits. 
I  am  nearly  sure  it  is  the  Pelican." 

Austin  was  out  of  bed  in  a  moment,  and,  dressing  quickly, 
ran  down  to  the  point.  It  was  the  dear  old  Pelican,  lying 
about  two  hundred  yards  out  from  the  point,  with  a  little 
steam  coming  from  her  steam -pipe,  every  now  and  then  giving 
a  throb  or  two  with  her  propeller,  just  enough  to  keep  her 
beautiful  sharp  bows  stationary  against  the  green  sea-water, 
for  the  tide  was  setting  strongly  down  the  Straits  towards  the 
bridge. 

They  have  never  improved  on  the  model  of  the  Pelican  any 
more  than  they  have  on  the  model  of  the  Great  Britain.  The 
lines  of  the  Pelican,  however,  were  more  like  those  of  the 
Himalaya  than  those  of  the  Great  Britain.  If  you  put  your 
two  hands  together  before  your  face,  expand  them  till  they 
form  a  right  angle  with  one  another,  and  then  bring  them 
together  until  they  form  half  a  right  angle,  your  two  hands 
will  have  nearly  represented  the  sides  of  the  Pelican  from 
bow  to  stern. 

The  Professor  and  Horton  and  Morton  were  alj  there  after 
their  bathe,  and,  as  Lord  Charles  and  Austin  came  up,  were 
admiring  the  beauty  of  the  vessel.  And,  after  a  moment,  Aus 
tin  said,  — 

u  It  is  the  Pelican,  and  there  is  my  governor.  Let 's  all 
come  on  board." 

There  never  was  such  a  reasonable  proposition.  They  all 
bundled  into  a  boat  together  at  once.  The  Professor,  when 


84  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

they  were  seated,  reminded  Horton  that  his  hour  came  before 
breakfast,  and  that  therefore  they  must  not  be  more  than  ten 
minutes.  Horton,  finding  himself  on  the  high  seas,  grew  in 
solent  and  mutinous,  and  broached  the  extraordinary  theory, 
that  the  powers  and  jurisdiction  of  a  coach  or  tutor  did 
not  extend  beyond  low-water  mark.  The  Professor  fired  up 
at  this,  and  challenged  him  to  produce  his  authority,  and  they 
were  in  full  wrangle,  and  both  beginning  to  get  angry,  when 
the  boat  swung  to  under  the  yacht's  side,  and  they  all  had  to 
tumble  up  on  deck.  It  now  appeared  that  the  dog  Robin  had 
stowed  himself  away  under  a  thwart,  and,  having  discovered 
himself,  was  walking  about  in  a  dangerous  way  over  the  top 
of  everything,  proposing  to  do  frightful  things  with  himself, 
unless  taken  on  board.  When  he  was  hoisted  on  deck,  during 
which  process  he  was  as  good  as  gold,  he  smelt  Aunt  Maria's 
Pomeranian,  head  over  heels,  down  the  engine-room  ladder. 

At  the  gangway  they  were  met  by  a  handsome  old  gentle 
man  —  a  genial,  good-tempered-looking  old  gentleman  — 
whose  eyes  brightened  up  when  they  met  Austin's,  and  there, 
somehow,  they  were  all  looking  another  way  for  a  moment,  as 
gentlemen  will  on  certain  occasions.  But  only  for  one  mo 
ment  ;  in  the  next  Austin  was  introducing  them  to  his  father, 
with  an  air  of  triumph  in  his  handsome  face,  as  if  he  was 
saying,  "  Come,  now,  which  of  you  has  got  such  a  governor 
as  I  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Elliot,"  said  the  Professor,  "  one  of  my  pupils  has 
mutinied  in  the  boat,  and  has  insulted  me.  He  says  that  my 
authority  does  not  extend  beyond  low-water  mark." 

"  He  is  perfectly  right,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Elliot.  "  I 
know,  in  the  way  of  business,  a  little  of  that  sort  of  thing,  and 
you  have  n't  a  leg  to  stand  on.  If  it  were  not  so,  your  author 
ity  is  merged  into  mine  on  my  own  deck.  Ask  Phillimore,  — 
ask  any  one.  Gentlemen,  I  request  that  you  will  immediately 
come  aft.  Lord  Charles  Barty,  a  word  with  you." 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  85 

He  spoke  to  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  Lord  Charles  ran 
to  the  engine-room  ladder,  and  roared  out,  "  Go  ahead  full 
speed  ! "  and  then  ran  to  the  side,  and  called  out,  "  Cast  off 
the  painter,  there ! "  And  cast  off  that  painter  was,  and 
ahead  at  full  speed  that  vessel  went,  with  the  Professor  pro 
testing  against  piracy  and  deforcement ;  threatening  to  take 
the  matter  into  the  Arches ;  protesting  that  Hayton  was 
coming  for  his  hour  at  ten,  that  he  would  be  plucked,  and 
that  his  widowed  mother  would  sink  into  her  grave  broken 
hearted  ;  but  the  cranks  were  gleaming,  and  the  screw  was 
spinning,  and  her  head  was  for  Holy  Island,  and  they  were 
all  laughing  at  him,  and  so  the  Professor  laughed  himself. 

"  Father,"  said  Austin,  "  you  have  stole  Aunt  Maria's  dog, 
and  my  dog  has  tumbled  it  down  into  the  engine-room." 

Mr.  Elliot  had  no  time  to  explain,  for,  coming  aft,  they  saw 
that  there  were  two  ladies  on  board,  sitting  close  to  the  wheel, 
—  the  one  a  large,  red-faced,  ill-tempered-looking  lady,  who 
was  Aunt  Maria,  and  a  sweet,  gentle,  dark-looking  little 
lady,  almost  like  a  Frenchwoman,  who  was  Eleanor. 

u  By  Jove  !  "  thought  Austin,  for  an  instant ;  "  Eleanor  is 
really  very  pretty.  And  how  well  she  dresses  !  " 

Mr.  Elliot  presented  the  Professor  and  the  pupils  to  Aunt 
Maria,  and  she  received  them  graciously,  though  she  was  hor 
ribly  cross  (why,  you  will  guess  soon).  So  Austin  and  Elea 
nor  had  just  a  few  words  together  by  themselves. 

"  Dear  Eleanor  !  " 

"  Dear  Austin  !  " 

"  How  on  earth  did  Aunt  Maria  and  you  come  to  go  to  sea 
with  the  governor?  If  she  offers  to  marry  him,  $-*!!  — " 

"  Don't  be  ridiculous,  Austin  dear.  Suppose  she  \vas  to 
hear  you  ?  " 

"  She  could  n't  hate  me  worse  than  she  does.  I  was  only 
joking.  I  know  the  governor  too  well.  But  how  was  it?" 


8G  AUSTIN   ELLIOT. 

"  I  had  to  have  change  of  air,  and  Mr.  Elliot  asked  us. 
We,  neither  of  us,  mind  the  sea,  you  know.  So  we  came." 

They  had  time  to  say  thus  much,  and  then  it  became  neces 
sary  to  introduce  the  Professor  and  Horton  and  Morton  to 
Eleanor.  Austin  stood  beside  her  while  they  were  presented. 
There  was  one  look  in  all  the  three  faces,  —  that  of  pleased 
admiration.  He  looked  at  her  again. 

"I  never  thought  Eleanor  pretty,"  said  his  most,  serene, 
illustrious,  and  imperial  high  mightiness  to  himself.  "  But 
these  fellows  seem  to  admire  her.  University  men  always 
admire  every  girl  they  come  across,"  continued  the  blase  man 
of  the  world,  who  had  just  been  confessing  to  his  friend  that 
he  knew  nothing  of  that  world.  "And,  besides,  she  has  a 
sweet  little  face  of  her  own,"  concluded  the  real  Austin 
Elliot 

So  she  had.  At  breakfast,  in  the  pretty-decorated  cabin, 
while  the  green  water  was  seething  past  them  and  through 
every  open  port-hole,  the  purple  Caernarvonshire  mountains 
were  seen  over  the  summer  sea,  as  though  set  in  a  frame  :  at 
that  pleasant  breakfast  in  the  fresh,  morning  air,  it  was  evi 
dent  that  both  Horton  and  Morton  were  quite  of  that  opinion. 
Whether  they  talked  to  her,  to  Austin,  to  Lord  Charles  Barty, 
or  to  one  another,  they  always  looked  at  her,  and  watched  to 
see  what  she  thought  of  what  they  said.  They  were  two 
clever  young  fellows,  but  they  seemed  more  brilliant  than 
usual  this  morning :  they  were  two  handsome  young  fellows, 
but  they  seemed  handsomer  than  usual  now ;  there  was  a 
grander  air  about  them  than  usual.  In  ordinary  times,  among 
their  fellows,  they  could  be  coarse  and  rude  with  the  rest ;  but 
here,  before  this  dark-eyed  little  girl,  there  was  an  air  of  high 
bred,  chivalrous  courtesy  about  them,  not  only  towards  her, 
but  towards  every  one  else.  There  was  something  about 
Eleanor  which  had  changed  them,  —  had  put  them  on  their 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  87 

mettle.  There  was  something  in  that  girl,  after  all.  Austin 
was  getting  proud  of  Eleanor,  in  the  same  way  as  a  Scotch 
man  is  proud  of  Glenlyon,  as  if  he  had  helped  to  make  it. 

And  Lord  Charles  Barty,  good  soul,  sat  and  looked  on,  and 
laughed  to  himself,  —  things  were  going  on  as  he  wished. 

Aunt  Maria  was  by  way  of  being  a  clever  woman ;  and, 
indeed,  she  was  a  clever  woman  in  one  way,  though  possibly 
if  one  had  told  her  the  grounds  on  which  one  considered  her 
clever,  she  would  have  been  very  angry.  She  could  talk  about 
nearly  everything,  and  had  so  much  of  the  dexterity  of  a 
woman  of  the  world,  that  her  knowledge,  by  no  means  small, 
was  made  to  go  a  very  long  way.  She  was  very  cross  at 
Austin's  getting  Eleanor  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  among 
his  friends ;  but  she  knew  it  was  no  use  being  cross.  The 
Professor  had  been  handed  over  to  her  bodily,  and  she  applied 
herself  to  her  task  with  a  will,  and  her  task  was  twofold,  —  to 
show  off  her  own  knowledge  to  him,  and  to  pick  his  brains  for 
future  use. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

AFTER  breakfast  they  all  went  on  deck.  Now,  Mr.  Elliot 
was  an  old-fashioned  man,  who  hated  smoking,  and  never  for 
one  instant  tolerated  it  on  his  quarter-deck.  But  this  did  not 
prevent  Austin  wanting  a  cigar ;  and,  besides,  he  wanted  to 
think  somewhat,  —  wanted,  in  fact,  to  think  about  Eleanor, 
and  the  cause  of  her  amazing  success  that  morning.  "  The 
little  brown  thing,"  he  thought,  "  how  wonderfully  pretty  she 
is!" 

The  moment  he  came  on  the  main  deck,  Robin  loped  up  to 
him,  and  jumped  on  him ;  after  that  he  dropped  his  tail  and 
ears,  and  followed  him. 


88  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

The  proper  place  to  light  your  cigar  is  in  the  engine-room, 
particularly  when  the  chief  engine-man  is  your  most  particular 
friend  and  gossip.  So  Austin  went  down  the  engine-room 
ladder,  while  Robin  stood  atop,  with  his  head  on  one  side,  one 
ear  up  and  the  other  down,  waiting  to  see  whether  or  no  his 
master  would  come  up  that  way  again,  or  whether  he  had  to 
run  round  and  meet  him  somewhere  else.  Aunt  Maria's  Pom 
eranian  came  and  looked  down  too,  but,  not  being  able  to  un 
derstand  the  situation,  sat  on  the  deck  and  proceeded  with  his 
toilet. 

"  And  how  's  a'  wi'  ye,  Master  Austin  ?  "  said  the  chief 
engineer.  "  How  's  a'  wi'  ye,  my  bonnie  young  gentleman  ?  " 

"  So  so,  George.  Well  enough.  I  say,  old  man,  you 
have  n't  got  that  meerschaum  of  yours  ?  Let  us  have  a  quiet 
pull  at  it,  with  some  of  the  Cavendish.  When  I  do  come  to 
sea,  I  don't  care  a  hang  for  cigars." 

Austin  had  some  other  low  tastes  besides  dog-fancying,  you 
see.  He  preferred  tobacco  to  cigars.  He  had  his  wicked 
will,  and  when  he  was  in  the  first  stage  of  complaining,  he 
said,  — 

"  How  is  she,  Geordie  ?  " 

"  She  's  vera  weel.     She  's  going  her  sixty -twa." 

"  Those  boxwood  bearings  did  n't  do,  did  they  ?  " 

"  They  didna  do  so  bad,  but  the  hornbeam  are  better. 
Ay,  none  but  a  Scotchman  would  turn  ye  out  such  engines 
as  they." 

"  Why,  they  are  Penn's,  of  Greenwich." 

"  Ay  !  ay  !  ay  !  they  are  Penn's,  of  Greenwich,  De'il 
doubt  it.  There  's  his  name  on  them.  But  wha  made  'em  ? 
A  Scotchman,  sir ;  a  Falkirk  man." 

"  I  don't  believe  you,  Geordie.  I  have  a  good  mind  to  take 
you  by  the  hair  of  your  head  and  bang  your  head  against  the 
companion-ladder,  for  that  dreadful  story."  . 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  80 

"  O,  ye  '11  no  do  that  to  yer  old  Geordie.  Hey,  my  bonnie, 
bonnie  boy,  ye  Lave  got  some  Scot's  blude  in  ye.  Never  such 
a  bonnie  boy  as  you  came  out  of  England.  Where  got  ye 
yon  dog  ?  " 

"  Miss  Cecil  gave  him  to  me." 

Geordie  turned  his  noble,  Wilkie-like  face  round  on  him  for 
one  instant,  and  then  turned  it  away  again.  He  said, — 

"  Mistress  Cecil !     That 's  my  Leddy  Mewstone." 

And  Austin  said,  "  Yes."  That  was  all  they  said  ;  but  Aus 
tin  knew  that,  somehow,  his  old  friend  George  had  heard 
something  about  him  and  Miss  Cecil,  so  he  held  his  peace. 

"  Yon  's  a  bonny  dog,"  continued  Geordie.  "  There  is  na 
such  dogs  in  the  world.  No,  my  bonnie,  —  my  gude  sir,  I 
mean  to  say,  —  no  man  kens  what  bonnie  dogs  are  yon.  That 
dog  would  follow  you  to  death." 

Austin  peeped  up  the  companion,  and  saw  that  they  were 
all  come  out  of  the  cuddy,  and  were  on  the  quarter-deck 
(which,  in  this  ship,  was  merely  the  roof  of  that  house  on  deck 
which  was  called  the  cuddy).  He  had  not  finished  his  pipe 
yet,  and  determined  to  go  forward ;  so  he  passed  by  the  ma 
chinery,  and  came  up  by  the  fore-companion,  and  found  him 
self  among  the  crew. 

The  watch  were  congregated  round  something,  —  something 
with  a  sharp  old  voice  belonging  to  it,  which  Austin  thought 
was  tolerably  familiar  to  him,  more  particularly  after  he  had 
heard  it  say,  — 

"  Believe  that  yarn  ?  In  course  I  believe  it.  As  a  general 
rule,  mind  you,  sailors  is  the  very  drattedest  liars  as  walks. 
But  this  here  ship's  company,  mind  you,  forms  the  remark- 
ablest  and  astoundingest  exception  to  that  there  rule,  ever  I 
hearn  on.  I  should  no  more  think  of  doubting  anythink  as 
any  member  of  this  ship's  company  took  in  his  head  to  try 
and  make  me  swaller  on,  than  I  should  think  of  sitting  on  this 


90  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

here  harness-cask,  and  a-watching  of  cook's  boy  peeling  of  the 
taters  with  his  nasty,  dirty  little  hands." 

As  the  old  man  to  whom  the  voice  belonged  was  doing 
exactly  what  he  described,  his  profession  of  faith  in  the  vera 
city  of  the  ship's  company  was  hailed  with  a  roar  of  laughter 
by  every  one  except  the  man  who  had  "  pitched  the  last  yarn." 
Immediately  after,  they  saw  that  Austin  was  among  them,  and 
drew  off,  smiling  and  touching  their  locks  to  him.  He  was  a 
great  favorite  here,  as  elsewhere. 

"  Well,  James  !  "  said  he  to  Miss  Hilton's  old  footman,  for 
it  was  he. 

"  Well,  Master  Austin  !  "  said  the  old  man,  nursing  one  of 
his  legs  on  the  top  of  the  harness-cask,  "  and  so  you  're  come 
to  sea,  eh  ?  and  brought  a  hull  biling  on  'em  with  you.  And 
a  elderly  cove  to  walk  up  and  down  the  quarter-deck  along 
of  Aunt  Maria,  while  the  young  uns  makes  love  to  Miss 
Eleanor." 

"  Don't  be  an  old  fool,  James,"  said  Austin,  laughing. 

"  You  might  as  well  say  to  a  sailor,"  said  the  old  man,  rais 
ing  his  voice  so  that  the  ship's  company  might  hear  him,  "you 
might  as  well  say  to  a  sailor,  don't  be  a  liar  !  I  might  as  well 
say  to  you,  Master  Austin,  don't  you  be  a  young  fool.  Ah, 
well !  we  can't  help  it,  none  on  us !  We  're  all  as  God  made 
us  ;  we  was  all  born  so,  and  as  such  we  must  remain." 

"  Were  you  born  an  old  fool,  then,  you  most  disagreeable 
old  porcupine  ?  "  said  Austin. 

"  No,  I  warnt,"  said  old  James,  tartly  ;  "  I  was  born  a 
young  'un.  My  character  has  deweloped ;  yours  will  dewel- 
ope  in  the  same  way  as  mine  if  you  live  long  enough ;  which 
Lord  forbid !  " 

"  Come,  old  fellow  !  you  don't  mean  that  ?  " 

"  Yes  I  do,  when  I  see  some  things.  I  don't  want  none 
that  I  loves  to  live  too  long,  and  see  what  I  see.  And  I  loves 
you,  and  you  knows  it." 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  91 

"  What 's  the  matter  now,  old  fellow  ?  " 

"  Drat  the  whole  country  of  North  Wales,  say  I !  "  was  the 
reply,  "  with  its  mountains,  and  its  waterfalls,  and  its  new 
lighthouse  on  the  Lleyn,  and  its  comings  on  board  at  Aberyst- 
with,  and  its  going  ashore  again  at  Caernarvon,  accause  you 
were  at  Bangor,  and  leaving  she  to  stump  up  and  down  the 
quarter-deck,  along  of  a  tutor,  in  her  aggravating  old  lilac 
jean  boots  !  Drat  it  all !  if  it  warn't  for  Miss  Eleanor,  I  'd  go 
into  an  almshouse  ! " 

At  the  mention  of  the  quarter-deck  and  jean  boots,  Austin 
looked  there.  Aunt  Maria  was  walking  up  and  down  with 
the  Professor.  She  had  got  lilac  jean  boots;  and,  what  is 
more,  those  jean  boots  were  the  most  important  thing  which 
took  your  eye.  For,  being  eight  or  nine  feet  over  Austin's 
head,  and  her  feet  therefore  more  than  a  yard  above  his  eyes, 
her  whole  figure  was  (to  him)  unnaturally  foreshortened,  as  in 
early  photographs. 

Austin  looked  at  Aunt  Maria  for  one  instant,  and  saw  that 
James  was  alluding  to  her  ;  he  turned  round  to  mildly  rebuke 
the  old  man,  but  the  old  man  had  been  too  clever  for  him. 
He  had  gone  into  the  galley,  and  sat  himself  down  alongside 
of  the  great,  fat,  jolly  cook,  in  front  of  the  coppers,  with  his 
heels  under  him  like  a  tailor,  watching  the  pots  and  pans  on 
the  stove.  The  cook  caught  Austin's  eye,  and  gave  a  fat 
wink  towards  Austin,  and  a  nod  at  the  old  man,  as  if  he  would 
say,  "  Here  "he  is."  And  lest  you  may  think  this  a  liberty  on 
the  part  of  the  cook,  I  must  tell  you  that  Austin  had  been 
cook's  very  good  friend,  ever  since  he  was  six  years  old. 

The  engineer  had  let  him  know  that  Captain  Hertford  had 
been  on  board ;  and  so  when  old  James  had  talked  in  his  gro 
tesque  and  rambling  way  about  some  one  having  gone  ashore 
at  Caernarvon,  Austin  knew  what  he  was  alluding  to.  Cap 
tain  Hertford !  What  could  have  made  his  father  take  him 


92  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

on  board  ?  And,  moreover,  now  he  came  to  think,  why  had 
his  father  brought  Aunt  Maria  to  sea  with  him  ?  He  wished 
he  could  get  his  father  alone.  At  this  moment  the  Master 
came  forward. 

"  Where  is  the  governor,  Mr.  Jackson  ? "  said  Austin,  sud 
denly  ;  "  he  is  not  on  the  quarter-deck." 

"  Alone  in  his  cabin,  Master  Austin,"  said  the  Master ; 
"  now  's  your  time  or  never." 

"  Thanks ! "  said  Austin,  and  bolted  aft  at  once.  He  ran 
through  the  saloon,  and  opened  the  door  of  his  father's  cabin  ; 
his  father  was  there,  seated  before  a  tableful  of  papers. 

"  My  own  boy ! "  said  Mr.  Elliot ;  "  I  thought  you  were 
never  coming  to  me  — " 

And  we  will  go  on  to  that  part  of  the  conversation  which 
relates  to  the  story  which  I  have  got  to  tell. 

"  Father,"  said  Austin,  "  how  come  you  to  have  Aunt  Maria 
on  board  ?  " 

"  Dear  little  Eleanor  was  ordered  a  sea-voyage,"  said  Mr. 
Elliot,  drumming  on  the  table  with  his  fingers,  "  and  so  I 
offered  her  one,  and  she  accepted  it  gratefully.  Aunt  Maria 
is  her  natural  guardian,  though  she  is  of  age." 

"Who?     Aunt  Maria?" 

"  Don't  be  a  puppy  to  me  on  board  my  own  yacht.  You 
know  who  I  mean." 

"  His  own  yacht !  0  Lord  !  "  replied  Austin.  "  Think  of 
the  pride  and  conceit  of  the  man  for  an  instant,  will  you  have 
the  goodness  ?  0  Lord !  " 

"  Don't  you  be  a  puppy,  sir,  or  I  shall  be  very  angry  with 
you.  Some  one  might  hear  you." 

"  Did  it  cut  itself,  shaving,  in  two  places  this  morning,  in 
consequence  of  the  rolling  of  its  own  yacht ;  and  did  it  pull 
two  tufts  of  nap  off  its  best  hat  and  stick  them  on  its  counte 
nance  ;  arid  did  n't  everybody  see  what  had  happened  the  mo- 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  93 

ment  it  appeared  on  the  quarter-deck,  and  did  n't  they  all  grin 
and  giggle  most  confoundedly  !  " 

"  Pax  I  Austin,  pax  !  "  said  Mr.  Elliot,  trying  to  look 
grave.  "  Come,  don't  waste  time  here  in  gibing  at  me ;  you 
have  plenty  of  time  for  that  ashore." 

"  0  no,  I  have  n't.  If  you  were  a  civil  person,  you  would 
come  and  live  near  me.  There  is  not  a  soul  in  Bangor  that  I 
can  chaff  as  I  dare  to  chaff  you." 

"  Now  you  are  going  to  be  a  monkey  again." 

"  No  I  am  not,  only  a  puppy.  Man,  do  you  know  how  I 
will  pay  you  out  for  calling  me  those  two  names  ?  " 

"  Austin,  my  boy,  be  serious.  Aunt  Maria  will  be  blunder 
ing  down  here  presently,  and  spoiling  our  tete-a-tete,  arid  you 
will  find  her  deuced  difficult  to  dislodge." 

"  Are  n't  you  going  to  marry  Aunt  Maria,  then  ? "  said 
Austin. 

"  I  have  not  quite  made  up  my  mind  about  that,"  said  Mr. 
Elliot.  "  I  have  very  nearly  done  so,  but  I  think  there  is 
something  due  to  her  feelings." 

Austin  was  sufficiently  sobered  now.  He  sat  down  on  a 
form,  and  watched  his  father  eagerly,  with  a  pale  face. 

"  She  has  fifteen  thousand  pounds,"  continued  Mr.  Elliot. 
"  A  man  at  my  time  of  life  don't  marry  for  love,  Austin.  Be 
sides,  you  want  some  one  to  advise,  strengthen,  and  lead  you  ; 
and  who  is  there  like  Miss  Hilton  ?  Yes,  Austin,  for  your 
sake,  —  for  your  sake  only,  my  dear  Austin,  I  have  deter 
mined  to  —  " 

Austin  leapt  up  with  something  like  an  oath. 

"  Your  gratitude  is  very  natural,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Mr. 
Elliot ;  "  mind,  it  is  for  your  sake  alone  that  I  marry.  Say 
not  another  word.  If  my  own  inclinations  were  consulted,  I 
should  object  to  marry  the  most  ill-tempered,  unprincipled 
woman  I  ever  met.  But  you  are  my  first  object,  of  course." 


94  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  Father,  dear  father,  you  are  not  in  earnest  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  told  you  to  be  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,  and  you 
would  n't  be.  So  I  have  taken  this  means  to  make  you  so, 
you  butterfly.  You  see  there  are  two  sides  to  a  joke." 

"  Yours  was  a  cruel  one,"  said  Austin. 

"  Not  so  cruel  as  your  coupling  my  name  with  that  old 
woman's,  my  boy;  don't  do  it  again.  Now  listen  to  me  soberly 
and  seriously,  will  you  ?  " 

Austin  did  not  reply.  He  was  standing  behind  his  father's 
chair,  with  his  arm  round  his  neck,  and  their  faces  so  close  to 
gether  that  they  touched  each  time  the  vessel  rolled. 

Mr.  Elliot  went  on.  "  Attend  closely  to  what  I  say,  Austin, 
my  dear ;  and  if  anything  happens  to  me,  remember  every 
word  of  it.  Coming  up  the  coast,  I  put  in  at  Aberyswith." 

"  So  I  heard,  dad,"  said  Austin  ;  "  /am  on  your  track." 

"  And  there  Captain  Hertford  came  on  board.  You  know 
Captain  Hertford  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  go  on." 

"  I  know  him  pretty  well.  He  almost  asked  me  for  a  pas 
sage,  but  I  did  not  encourage  him.  But  Aunt  Maria,  as  we 
will  call  her,  came  to  me  and  asked  for  him  in  set  terms,  and 
then,  of  course,  I  treated  him  with  the  greatest  empressement, 
and  had  him  on  board." 

"  Good,  father  ;  speak  low." 

"  Well,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Elliot,  with  his  lips  almost  against 
Austin's  ear,  "  there  is  a  secret  between  Aunt  Maria  and  that 
man,  and  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  know  what  it  is." 

"  Charles  Barty,  father,"  said  Austin,  "  gives  a  very  bad 
character  of  Captain  Hertford.  May  n't  he  know  something 
about  Aunt  Maria  ?  " 

"  Go  on,"  said  Mr.  Elliot.     "  Let  us  hear  your  say  out." 

"You  know  that  Aunt  Maria,  when  five-and-twenty,  fol 
lowed  a  certain  Captain  to  India,  and  came  home  again  still 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  95 

Miss  Hilton,  without  improving  her  condition  in  any  way, 
except  getting  herself  cured  of  sea-sickness,  to  which  fact  we 
are  indebted  for  her  presence  here  to-day.  You  know  that." 

"  I  know  it :  go  on." 

"  Do  you  think  that  he  knows  anything  to  Aunt  Maria's 
disadvantage,  eh  ?  —  anything  of  that  sort  ?  " 

"  Perhaps ;  not  a  bad  guess  for  a  very  young  man." 

"  Do  you  know  who  Captain  Hertford  is  ?  " 

"  I  know  something  about  him." 

"  I  know  very  little.     I  know  that  he  is  unprincipled,  — 
that  he  is  the  man  who  helped  poor  Robert  to  his  ruin." 

"  Robert  Hilton  ?  " 

"  Ay,  —  Robert  Hilton  ;  and  that  he  has  some  secret  with 
Aunt  Maria,  and  that  she  is  helping  him  to  marry  Eleanor 
Hilton  and  her  nine  thousand  a  year  :  that  is  all ! " 

Austin  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table  with  a  crash,  and 
said  something. 

"  Don't  swear,  sir,  —  don't  swear,"  said  Mr.  Elliot ;  "  it  is 
not  good  ton  to  swear  before  your  father,  sir.  The  only  time 
when  a  young  man  ought  to  swear,  sir,  is  when  he  wakes  up 
one  fine  morning,  and  finds  that  he  has  flown  his  kite  a  devil 
ish  deal  too  high,  and  that  Miss  Cecil  had  thought  as  much 
of  him  as  she  did  of  the  groom  that  lifted  her  on  her  horse. 
Then  a  man  might  swear,  sir,  even  before  his  father ;  but  not 
when  he  is  leaving  a  sweet,  amiable,  beautiful  —  ay,  beauti 
ful  !  in  your  teeth  —  young  girl  to  be  the  prey  of  a  rogue  like 
Hertford.  And  —  Never  mind ;  you  had  no  right  to  swear 
in  my  presence,  sir.  /  don't  care  about  nine  thousand  a  year, 
God  knows  !  You  will  have  about  fifteen  hundred.  But  you 
are  a  fool !  " 

"  But,  father,  I  love  Miss  Cecil." 

"  No,  you  don't !  You  love  Lady  Mewstone,  and  are  there 
fore  a  knave  as  well  as  a  fool !  D — n  it !  here  's  Aunt  Maria 


90  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

herself.  Sit  down,  and  don't  begin  to  grin  again,  you  mon 
key  ! " 

"  You  had  no  business,  sir,  to  swear  in  my  presence  ! "  said 
Austin,  as  Aunt  Maria  opened  the  cuddy  door.  "  It  is  not 
good  ton  for  the  father  to  swear  before  his  son,  sir !  The  only 
time  when  an  old  man  ought  to  swear,  sir  — " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir  !  "  said  Mr.  Elliot. 

"  Has  your  father  been  swearing,  then  ?  "  said  Aunt  Maria. 

"  Dreadfully  !  "  said  Austin. 

"  Then  I  wish,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  "  that  he  -would  —  I 
don't  say  swear,  because  I  don't  uphold  that,  even  in  a  saint 
ed  man  like  your  dear  father ;  but  I  wish  he  would  say  some 
thing  strong  about  that  dog  of  yours." 

"  What  has  he  been  at,  Miss  Hilton  ?  " 

"  At  ?  —  nothing.     But  he  is  such  an  ugly  cur !  " 

"  Well,  my  dear  Miss  Hilton,  he  shall  be  out  of  your  way 
in  a  few  hours.  By  the  by,  dad,  you  must  set  us  ashore  at 
Conway.  Hayton  is  waiting  for  his  hour  with  the  Professor. 
The  loss  of  two  hours  might  pluck  him." 

"  All  right,"  said  Mr.  Elliot ;  "  her  head  will  be  that  way 
presently,  —  in  fact,  is  so  now.  I  am  going  on  deck." 

"  Well,  Austin,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  when  they  were  left 
alone,  "  and  how  are  you,  sirrah,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  bad,"  said  Austin. 

"  Good  heavens  !  what 's  the  matter  ?  —  meagrims,  hyster 
ics,  or  what  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  They  say  that  you  flew  your  kite  at  that  girl  of  George 
Cecil's,  who  has  married  that  prig,  Lord  Mewstone.  I  denied 
it  when  they  told  me.  I  said  you  were  not  very  wise,  but 
that  you  were  n't  such  a  fool  as  that." 

Austin  looked  at  Aunt  Maria.  What  a  coarse,  violent  face 
it  was !  Old  Hilton's  sister.  Well,  he  had  a  coarse,  violent 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  97 

vein  in  him,  too,  and  she  was  something  like  him.  He  looked 
her  in  the  face  for  a  second,  and  then  said,  with  a  smile, 
"  Give  me  your  arm,  and  come  on  deck.  Don't  be  disagree 
able,  that 's  a  good  soul "  ;  which  course  of  proceeding  puzzled 
Aunt  Maria,  and  made  her  do  what  he  told  her. 

And  Mr.  Elliot  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He  took  them 
for  a  cruise  on  that  glowing  summer's  day ;  and  there  was  not 
one  of  them  who  did  not,  ever  after,  connect  the  memory  of 
the  kind,  good,  and  just  old  man  with  one  of  the  most  delight 
ful  days  in  their  life. 

They  went  to  Holy  Island,  where  the  preventive  men  had 
grown  pale  and  flabby  from  eating  rabbits,  and  the  atmosphere 
was  laden  with  the  scent  of  onions,  and  where  the  oldest  of 
them  looked,  with  his  long  gray  hair  in  the  wind,  not  at  all 
unlike  an  old  rabbit  with  a  lot  of  onion-sauce  emptied  over 
his  head  ;  and  where  Mr.  Elliot  frightened  the  population  out 
of  their  wits  by  telling  Lieutenant  Hodder,  of  the  Coast 
Guard,  that  if  Sir  R.  B.  didn't  repair  a  certain  wall,  he 
should  be  forced  to  "  look  him  up,"  which,  being  understood 
by  a  Welsh  bystander  as  "  lock  him  up,"  and  as  such  being 
translated  into  Welsh,  caused  a  report  that  evening,  in  the 
taverns  at  Beaumaris,  that  the  Queen  had  sent  down  an  Eng 
lish  Lord  in  a  frigate,  to  seize  the  persons,  not  only  of  Sir  R. 
B.,  but  of  the  Hon.  Col.  D.  P.  and  Mr.  A.  S.,  and  commit 
them  all  to  the  Tower,  till  they  had  purged  themselves  of  their 
contempt,  —  which  circumstance  illustrates  the  advantage  of  a 
portion  of  her  Majesty's  subjects  talking  Welsh  while  the  rest 
talk  English. 

Arid  re-embarking  they  went  eastward,  and  at  lunch-time 
were  steaming  merrily  under  the  limestone  slabs  of  the  Orm's 
Head,  watching  the  brimming  sea  leap  on  to  the  black  ledges 
in  fountains,  and  pour  from  them  in  cascades,  and  Pen- 
maenmawr  hanging  fifteen  hundred  feet  aloft  behind,  a 


o 
5  G 


98  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

wrinkled  mass  of  purple  stone.  Then  Conway  Castle,  and 
affectionate  farewells  in  the  pleasant  summer  evening,  Eleanor 
and  Mr.  Hilton,  standing  on  the  quarter-deck,  arm  in  arm,  and 
waving  their  hands  at  them,  to  the  very  last.  A  glorious  day 
finished  by  a  pleasant  drive  home,  under  the  overhanging 
crags,  with  Robin  leading  the  way,  a  hundred  yards  ahead, 
barking  joyfully,  as  if  he  so  approved  of  the  whole  proceedings 
that  he  could  not  hold  his  tongue. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  said  liorton,  as  they  drove  under  Penmaen- 
mawr,  "  what  a  glorious  creature  it  is  !  " 

«  Ah  !  "  said  Lord  Charles,  «  is  she  not  ?  " 

Austin  looked  suddenly  and  stealthily 'at  him,  and  Lord 
Charles  took  the  opportunity,  suddenly  and  stealthily  also,  of 
making  a  face  at  Austin. 

"  Is  she  French,  Elliot  ?  "  said  Horton. 

"  French  !  0  dear,  no,"  replied  Austin.  "  She  was  built 
by  White,  of  Cowes." 

*'  Who  was  ?  "  said  Horton,  in  amazement. 

"  The  yacht.     The  Pelican,"  said  Austin. 

"  I  was  talking  about  Miss  Hilton,"  said  Horton. 

"  Ah !  I  was  n't,"  said  Austin. 

"  But  is  she  French,  you  stupid  ?  "  said  Horton. 

"  No,  she  ain't,"  said  Austin. 

"  She  looks  like  it,"  said  Horton. 

"  Does  she  ?  "  said  Austin.   - 

"  The  island  of  Anglesea,  at  which  we  are  looking,"  said 
the  Professor,  suddenly,  "  is  the  Mona  of  the  Agricola  of 
Tacitus.  The  Mona  Cesaris  is  evidently  the  Isle  of  Man.  In 
the  latter  case,  a  corruption  of  the  Latin  has  been  retained  ;  in 
the  former  —  " 

*'  Well,  you  need  n't  be  sulky,  Elliot,"  said  Horton,  rudely 
stopping  the  Professor's  good-natured  attempt  at  changing  the 
subject,  by  saying  the  first  thing  he  could  think  of. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  99 

"  I  ain't  sulky,  old  fellow,"  said  Austin,  eagerly,  "  by 
Jove  !  no.  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it.  Her  mother  was  a 
Frenchwoman.  It  was  a  deuced  good  guess  of  yours.  She 
is  a  noble  little  body,  is  she  not  ?  I  am  so  proud  at  all  of  you 
admiring  her  so,  you  can't  think.  She  is,  as  it  were,  my  sister, 
you  know." 

The  Professor,  who  was  sitting  next  to  Austin,  quietly 
patted  him  on  the  back.  They  were  all  merry  again  directly. 
Xo  one  ever  could  withstand  Austin's  good  humor,  and  it  was 
quite  useless  to  try.  Even  for  Aunt  Maria. 

That  day,  Hayton  had  come  for  his  hour's  logic,  and  had 
met  the  Professor's  mother  in  the  hall.  The  kind  old  lady 
was  in  profound  despair.  Hayton  was  the  only  "  shady  "  man 
of  the  lot ;  the  only  "  pass  "  man  of  the  whole.  The  Professor 
never  took  mere  pass  men.  He  had  made  an  exception  with 
regard  to  Hayton,  because  he  was  one  of  the  most  popular 
men  in  the  University.  Every  day  was  of  importance.  It 
would  be  so  dreadful,  thought  old  Mrs.  Professor,  to  have  one 
of  their  men  plucked,  and  poor  Hayton,  too  !  of  all  others,  the 
general  favorite.  She  was  nearly  in  tears  when  she  met  him 
in  the  hall.  She  told  him  that  the  Professor  had  been  carried 
to  sea,  and  was  at  that  present  speaking  hull  down.  What 
was  it  ?  Was  it  Tacitus  ?  She  would  gladly  lend  him  Bonn's 
translation  for  an  hour.  If  it  was  Latin  prose,  she  thought  — - 
she  said  it  so  kindly  and  hesitatingly  —  "  she  believed,  —  nay, 
she  felt  sure,  that  she  could  detect — 'any  —  any  grammatical 
error,  if  he  would  n't  be  offended.  But  what  use  was  it?"  she 
said.  "  The  Professor  might  be  away  for  months.  The  Duke 
of  Cheshire's  yacht  had  come,  and  carried  off  Lord  Charles 
Barty  and  the  rest  of  them.  And  who  could  tell  when  they 
would  be  back  ?  This  came  of  having  noblemen*  in  the  party. 
She  had  always  been  against  it." 

"  It 's  very  kind  of  you,"  said  honest  Hayton,  "  but  it 's  the 
logic.  I  am  afraid  you  cannot  help  me." 


100  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

At  this  moment,  Dayton  came  flying  round  the  corner.  "  I 
say,  old  fellow,"  he  cried  out,  "shall  I  give  you  an  hour's 
coach  ? " 

Old  Mrs.  Professor  shed  tears  of  joy  ;  and  the  two  patient 
young  men  sat  up  in  the  window,  with  their  heads  together, 
working  at  the  logic,  while  the  others  took  their  holiday  on  the 
shining  summer  sea. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

AUSTIN'S  political  education  was  going  on  famously.  The 
ultra-Tory  opinions,  carefully  instilled  into  him  ever  since  he 
could  talk,  by  his  father,  were  bearing  fruit.  Austin,  at  the 
age  of  one-and-twenty,  was  a  very  advanced  Radical. 

I  suppose  that  the  very  best  and  cleverest  men  have  a  hobby 
of  some  sort,  which  the  rules  of  society  prevent  their  mounting 
out  of  the  bosom  of  their  families.  I  suppose  that  every  man 
could  bore  you  to  death  on  some  one  subject,  if  you  would  only 
let  him.  Mr.  Elliot  had  a  hobby,  and  had  ridden  it  continu 
ously  before  Austin  was  old  enough  to  rebel.  He  had  bored 
him  with  his  hobby,  and  that  hobby  was  political  talk. 

By  the  time  Austin  was  ten,  he  determined  that,  by  hook  or 
by  crook,  he  would  be  bored  no  longer.  Being  too  young  to 
know  that  there  were  two  sides  to  the  question,  he  first  began 
his  rebellion  by  going  to  sleep,  upsetting  things,  playing  with 
the  dog,  and  so  on,  while  his  father  was  talking.  These  efforts 
were  utterly  futile.  Mr.  Elliot  not  only  wanted  to  instil  Tory 
principles  into  his  son,  but  he  also  wanted  to  hear  himself  talk. 
If  he  could  not  do  the  one  thing,  he  was  most  fully  determined 
to  do  the  other. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  101 

However  Mr.  Elliot  started  in  one  of  these  political  dia 
tribes,  he  always  arrived  at  the  same  result,  —  that  of  praising 
Mr.  Pitt  arid  the  Duke  to  the  skies.  Whenever  Austin  heard 
one  of  those  two  names  mentioned,  he  used  to  get  desperate. 
He  began  to  hate  them.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  hearing  Fox 
and  Sir  Robert  Peel  so  steadily  and  systematically  abused,  he 
began,  out  of  mere  obstinacy,  to  long  to  hear  what  they  would 
have  had  to  say  for  themselves.  If  he  could  only  get  hold  of 
facts  about  these  two  men,  he  thought  he  could  at  all  events 
have  a  wrangle  with  his  father,  which  would  be  better  fun  than 
sitting  mumchance,  and  hearing  about  that  intolerable  person, 
Pitt. 

But  there  was  no  hope  left  for  him  whatever.  His  father 
had  determined  that  he  should  be  a  Tory,  and  took  care  to 
form  his  opinions  from  his  own  facts.  He,  good  man,  so  thor 
oughly  succeeded  in  boring  the  boy,  that,  at  twelve,  Austin  was 
mad  to  get  hold  of  some  facts  on  the  other  side,  and  fight  his 
father.  He  did  not  care  about  the  truth,  —  how  should  a  boy 
of  twelve  years  old  care  much  about  political  questions  ?  He 
hated  the  name  of  politics,  but  he  hated  Toryism  worse.  He 
had,  by  his  father's  management,  imbibed  liberal  opinions  be 
fore  he  had  heard  a  single  argument  in  favor  of  them. 

The  first  weapon  he  got  into  his  hands  was  this.  Mr.  Elliot, 
most  temperate  of  men,  let  out  one  day  that  Mr.  Pitt  used  to 
drink  a  great  deal  of  wine.  Austin  seized  on  this,  and  used  it 
with  amazing  dexterity.  It  is  surprising  what  a  desperate 
man  will  do  with  a  very  inferior  weapon.  A  Roman  would 
show  good  fight  with  his  stylus.  On  occasion,  I  myself  have 
seen  Mr.  Dennis  Moriarty,  junior,  do  the  most  magnificent 
battle  with  an  old  fire-shovel,  till  overborne  by  numbers. 
Yesterday  only,  I  was  shown  a  wooden  dagger  which  had  just 
been  brought  from  Naples,  a  specimen  of  those  which  are 
made  in  prison  by  the  Bourbonists,  for  purposes  of  assassina- 


102  .  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

tion,  after  their  knives  are  taken  from  them  ;  and  a  very  ugly 
weapon  it  was.  Austin  used  his  lath  dagger  —  Mr.  Pitt's 
excess  in  wine  —  with  the  greater  success,  because  his  father 
had  always  impressed  on  him  that  the  great  vice  of  Fox  and 
his  companions  was  drunkenness. 

But,  after  Austin's  first  half  at  Eton,  he  came  home  with  a 
large  quiverful  of  barbed  arrows,  which  he  discharged  at  his 
father  with  enormous  effect.  He  had  got  into  bad  company 
there. 

The  very  first  day  he  had  been  turned  into  the  playground 
there,  he,  feeling  lonely  and  somewhat  scared,  found  himself 
beside  another  new  boy,  from  the  same  house,  in  the  same  sit-"* 
uation.     They  made  friends  that  day,  and  their  friendship  only 
ended  with  death. 

This  was  Lord  Charles  Barty,  —  a  noble  boy  of  twelve, 
with  some  brains  and  more  ambition.  He  came  of  a  great 
Whig  house.  Whiggery,  as  Mr.  Elliot  would  have  called  it, 
had  been  his  "  life  element "  from  his  birth.  When  Austin, 
after  a  few  days,  told  him  his  leading  grievance,  that  young 
gentleman,  aged  only  twelve,  was  enabled,  by  the  help  of  his 
eldest  brother,  Lord  Wargrave,  to  supply  Austin  with  a  few 
smooth  pebbles  from  the  brook,  to  sling  at  the  Tory  giant,  and 
promised  to  bring  some  more  soon. 

When  Austin  began  casting  these  pebbles  at  his  father,  in 
the  holidays,  Mr.  Elliot  was  both  amused  and  pleased  ;  at  all 
events,  his  boy  was  turning  his  attention  that  way.  He  would 
sooner  see  him  a  Radical  than  see  him  without  opinions. 

Half  after  half,  the  merry  battle  went  on  between  father 
and  son.  The  old  Tory  sub-secretaries,  and  such  men,  who 
formed  Mr.  Elliot's  little  society,  grew  grayer  under  the  au 
dacious  speculations  which  Austin  brought  from  Eton  each 
half.  "  These  opinions,"  said  they,  "  were  answered  when  we 
were  boys."  "  But  never  refuted,"  quoth  Austin.  At  which 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  103 

his  father  would  rub  his  knees  and  laugh,  and  the  sub-secreta 
ries  would  say  to  one  another,  that  Elliot  was  getting  into  his 
dotage,  and  "  that  boy  would  go  to  the  devil,  sir,  as  sure  as 
you  are  born  !  " 

Fired  by  Austin's  speculative  questions,  Lord  Charles 
Barty  supplemented  his  usual  holiday  amusements,  which 
were  not  generally  very  varied,  by  gaining  a  little  political 
knowledge,  —  by  picking  up  stones  for  Austin  to  fling  at  his 
father.  His  usual  holiday  amusements  were  these,  —  to  in 
terrupt  his  sister's  lessons  as  much  as  possible,  and,  in  the 
absence  of  the  governess,  to  (as  he  called  it)  make  hay  in  the 
school-room.  When  she  came  back,  boxed  his  ears,  and  turned 
him  out,  he  would  go  to  the  stables,  and  coax  and  wheedle  the 
stud-groom  into  giving  him  a  surreptitious  mount.  Lastly,  he 
would  take  his  blind  brother,  Edward,  out  for  a  ramble 
through  the  park,  through  the  wood,  over  the  broad  turnip- 
fields,  up  to  the  topmost  height  of  Kingsdown,  where  Lord 
Edward  might  lie  on  the  short  turf,  staring  to  heaven  with  his 
sightless  eyes,  and  listening  to  the  music  of  the  five  tall  firs 
that  moaned  in  the  summer  air  overhead. 

The  way  he  gained  his  political  information  was  this. 
Whenever  he  dined  at  table,  he  used  to  stay  until  his  father 
went  into  the  drawing-room.  And  in  his  father's  house  he 
was  pretty  sure  to  find  himself,  after  the  ladies  \vere  gone, 
sitting  next  to  a  pretty  strong  Whig.  And  from  this  tolerably 
strong  Whig  he  would  get  opinions  ;  the  ultimate  destination 
of  which  was,  that  they  were  poured  out  on  the  head  of  Mr. 
Elliot  senior,  to  his  great  amusement. 

So  by  this  process,  by  Lord  Charles  Barty  getting  argu 
ments  and  giving  them  to  Austin,  and  by  Austin  letting  them 
against  his  father,  both  these  young  gentlemen  found  them 
selves,  at  twenty-one,  in  a  state  of  very  advanced  Radicalism. 
And,  as  all  young  men  at  twenty -one,  if  they  are  worth  any- 


104  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

thing,  have  their  hero,  so  these  two  young  gentlemen  had 
!  heirs.  I  need  not  say  that  that  hero  was  Sir  Robert  Peel. 
These  furious  young  democrats  had  been  ashamed  to  confess 
the  fact  to  one  another,  the  fact  that  their  fetish  was  a  so- 
called  Tory,  before  the  time  wjien  Lord  Charles  galloped  over 
the  goose  on  Putney  Common.  But  so  it  was. 

What  was  the  reason  that  the  wildest  young  Radicals  of 
those  times  pinned  their  faith  on  Sir  Robert  Peel  ?  I  suppose 
because  they  knew,  that,  should  a  pinch  come,  he  would  act. 
Would  pitch  party  formulas  to  the  winds.  Horner's  resolu 
tions  and  the  Catholic  question  had  shown  them  that.  Their 
instincts  showed  them  that  he  was  a  true  Radical.  As  he  was 
in  one  sense. 

When  these  two  young  gentlemen  were  elected  members 
of  the  Union,  then  the  Thames  got  afire  indeed.  They 
uttered  the  most  dreadful  opinions.  They  came  down  to  that 
house,  sir  (that  was  little  Pickles  of  Brasenose  ;  he  was  Presi 
dent),  and  they  held  in  their  hands  all  sorts  of  dreadful  docu 
ments  ;  and  they  had  yet  to  learn  :  and  they  saw  the  honor 
able  member  opposite  in  his  place,  and  played  the  deuce  with 
him.  They  were  the  two  most  terrible  Radicals  at  the 
Union,  these  two.  There  was  no  doubt  of  that. 

But  after  all  said  and  done,  they  were  Neither  of  them  true- 
blue  Radicals.  The  metal  never  rang  clean  and  clear.  They 
both  stopped  short.  Austin  politically,  and  Lord  Charles 
socially. 

Austin  thought  Lord  Charles  went  too  far.  Perhaps  he 
did.  His  proposition  was  to  pull  down  the  old  house,  and 
then  begin  to  think  about  building  it  up  again,  with  such 
materials  as  heaven  should  think  fit  to  send ;  or  should  heaven 
send  no  materials,  to  let  it  build  itself  (which  no  house  ever 
did  yet,  except  the  American  house,  which  has  tumbled 
down,  and  will  have  to  be  built  all  over  again)  :  this  dis- 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  105 

pleased  Austin.  Lord  Charles  also  seemed  to  think  that  no 
one  should  do  anything  as  long  as  any  one  else  existed  who 
could  do  it  better ;  that  we  must  have  the  exactly  right  man 
in  the  right  place,  or  we  were  naught.  At  this  Austin  fired 
up,  and  said  that  in  that  case,  Lord  Charles  and  he  might 
find  themselves  in  the  position,  the  one  of  a  crossing-sweeper 
and  the  other  of  a  shoeblack. 

But  in  Lord  Charles's  model  republic,  there  were  to  be 
no  crossings,  and  no  shoes.  So  Austin's  illustration  fell  to 
the  ground,  and,  like  many  other  silly  people,  he  abandoned 
the  argument,  from  shame  of  having  made  a  clumsy  illus 
tration. 

"  Then  what  the  deuce  is  to  become  of  us  ?  "  asked  Austin. 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  What  are  a  few  worthless  martyrs, 
like  myself,  in  comparison  to  the  great  cause  ?  " 

Austin  submitted  that  it  did  matter,  and  that  they  had 
better  not  be  in  too  great  a  hurry.  He  would  sometimes, 
indeed,  laugh  at  the  more  wild  of  his  friend's  speculations. 
In  theory  Austin  was  a  real  Radical;  but  he  did  not  wish 
his  theories  to  be  put  into  practice. 

Lord  Charles  also  stopped  at  a  certain  point.  He  had 
certain  Radical  theories  concerning  marriage,  with  which 
Austin  one-half  agreed.  For  instance,  that  the  human  race 
were  all  of  the  same  species,  and  that  no  bar  should  be  put 
to  marriages  between  young  people,  if  they  fell  in  love.  He 
was  a  high  Tractarian,  and  made  High-Church  thought  fit 
into  his  political  theories  with  the  most  admirable  dexterity ; 
his  reverence  for  marriage  and  women  was  of  the  highest 
kind  ;  and  he  used  to  say,  that  of  all  things  he  would  admire 
a  nobleman  who  would  marry  his  gardener's  daughter.  Austin 
agreed ;  but  when  he  put  the  converse  of  the  proposition 
about  the  gardener's  sen  marrying  —  eh !  Lord  Charles  got 
in  a  pet,  and  said  that  Austin  never  would  be  serious,  and 
5* 


106  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

delighted  in  talking  infernal  nonsense  out  of  pure  aggrava 
tion. 

"  Don't  be  cross,  Charles,"  said  Austin. 

"  I  ain't  cross,"  said  Lord  Charles,  angrily,  blundering  over 
Robin,  and  giving  him  a  kick,  at  the  same  time  using  a  word 
which  will  never  be  used  in  the  great  republic. 

He  ivas  cross.  Austin  had  no  right  to  say  such  horrible 
tilings.  Amelia  and  the  gardener's  boy.  Good  God  ! 

Austin  did  not  laugh  at  him.  He  had  tripped  him  up,  and 
was  content.  The  human-race  theory  would  not  hold  water, 
it  appeared. 

Lord  Charles  was  sulky  for  a  time  ;  but  he  called  Robin  to 
him,  and  put  his  cheek  against  the  dog's  face,  in  that  way 
asking  forgiveness  for  having  kicked  him.  Robin  begged  him 
with  his  great  eyes  to  say  nothing  about  it,  and  laid  his  beau 
tiful  head  on  his  knee. 

"  You  have  been  a  fool,  Austin,"  said  Lord  Charles,  sulkily. 
Englishmen  are  generally  sulky  when  they  have  their  own 
weapons  turned  against  them  ;  have  got  out  of  temper  with 
their  friends,  and  want  to  make  it  up. 

"  Ah  !  I  know,"  said  Austin,  laughing.  "  You  mean  about 
Miss — Lady  Mewstone,  you  Jacobin!  Come,  let  as  argue 
the  converse  of  your  proposition  on  this  case.  Come  on. 
There  is  nothing  offensive  here.  I  am  Lord  Mewstone's 
equal  in  talent,  and  in  manners.  Why  should  I  not  have 
married  Miss  Cecil  ?  I  consider  she  has  thrown  herself 
away." 

"  I  don  't  think  that.  I  think  that  you  are  his  superior  in 
everything,  and  yet  I  think  you  made  a  fool  of  yourself." 

«  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  they  two  were  in  love  with  one  another,  and 
because  you  passed  by  a  girl  who  is  far  superior  to  that 
highty-tighty,  ambitious,  politics-chattering  daughter  of  old 
Cecil's." 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  107 

"  Well ;  I  know  that  now." 

"  O,  you  do,  do  you  ?    And  confess  yourself  a  fool  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  what  a  sublime  fool  you  will  look  if  you  allow  Aunt 
Maria  to  bully  her  into  marrying  Captain  Hertford." 

"  Charles,  you  are  mad." 

"  Raving  mad,"  said  Lord  Charles  ;  "  but  that  is  what  the 
dear  old  soul  is  after.  She  has  got  the  whip-hand  of  Hertford 
about  something,  and  he,  I  suspect,  has  got  the  whip-hand  of 
her." 

"  How  do  you  find  all  this  out  ?  "  said  Austin,  aghast. 

"  I  listen  to  the  old  women  talking,"  said  he  ;  "  they  know 
a  precious  sight  more  about  it  than  you  do." 

"  Well,  but  I  can't  listen  to  the  old  women.  Tell  us  what 
you  know." 

"  There 's  Tom  going,"  said  Lord  Charles  ;  "  had  n't  we 
better  go  on  with  our  Livy,  if  we  are  going  to  do  so  at  all  ?  " 

••  Come,  no  nonsense,"  said  Austin  ;  "  tell  me  what  the  old 
women  told  you." 

"  The  old  women  did  n't  tell  me  anything.  But  I  want  to 
ask  you  a  question.  Why  should  not  Eleanor  Hilton  marry 
Captain  Hertford  ?  " 

"  Why  !  why !  "  said  Austin.  "  Do  you  want  to  drive  me 
mad  ?  Because  I  would  cut  the  infernal  scoundrel's  throat,  if 
he  dare  to  look  at  her.  That 's  why." 

"  But  it  don't  matter  to  you.  You  have  got  no  interest  in 
her." 

"  Charles,  I  love  her." 

"  You  always  did,  I  know,  in  a  sort  of  way  ;  but,  with  the 
memory  of  that  sad  affair  with  the  Right  Honorable  the  Coun 
tess  of  Mcwstone  so  fresh  on  your  heart  —  " 

"  Don't  chaff.     The  thing  is  serious." 

"  I  know  it  is,"  said  Lord  Charles  ;  "  but  tell  me  one  thing 


108  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

only.  Do  you  really  mean  that  you  will  ask  Eleanor  to  be 
your  wife  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Hurrah  !  Now  I  '11  tell  you  all  I  know.  I  was  in  town 
last  night." 

"Well,"  said  Austin. 

"  I  heard  a  conversation  between  my  mother  and  Lord  Sal- 
tire.  You  know  Lord  Saltire  ?  " 

"  He  always  speaks  to  me,"  said  Austin. 

"  Now  then,"  continued  Lord  Charles,  "  old  Hilton  made  a 
faux  pas  about  some  French  business,  in  1806,  and  every  one 
cut  him,  except  your  father.  At  this  time,  Lord  Saltire,  who 
had  only  had  a  trifling  acquaintance  with  him  before,  thought 
that  he  would  follow  his  favorite  amusement  of  flying  in  the 
world's  face,  by  taking  him  up,  saying  that  he  had  a  profound 
admiration  for  a  man  with  so  few  prejudices,  or  some  piece  of 
cynicism  of  that  kind  ;  and  although  Hilton  saw  that  Lord 
Saltire  was  only  amusing  himself  by  offending  the  world,  yet 
friends  were  scarce,  and  Lord  Saltire's  humor  suited  his  own, 
and  they  two  knocked  up  some  sort  of  a  friendship. 

"  How  did  you  find  out  all  this  ?  "  asked  Austin. 

"  I>y  listening  to  the  old  women  at  their  gossip.  Don't  in 
terrupt." 

"  Just  one  moment.  Have  you  heard  Lord  Saltire  and  her 
Grace  speak  of  this  before  ?  " 

"  I  have  gathered  what  I  have  told  you  from  another  con 
versation.  I  will  now  give  you  the  gist  of  the  last. 

"  Lord  Saltire  began  by  saying,  '  You  don't  know  any  eligi 
ble  young  gentleman  who  wants  nine  thousand  a  year,  do 
you  ? '  And  she  said,  '  There  is  Charles  listening  to  us,  he  is 
in  want  of  exactly  that  sum,'  and  then  there  was  some  fun 
about  it,  and  he  went  on.  He  said  that  Eleanor  was,  from 
some  reason,  completely  under  her  aunt's  thumb,  and  that 
Captain  Hertford  was  eternally  about  the  house." 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  109 

"  He  is  never  there  when  I  am,"  said  Austin. 

"  Never  mind  that.  He  is  there  when  you  ain't  there, 
which  is  much  more  important.  He  said  that  he  had  been  to 
call  on  her,  after  what  he  had  heard,  and  that  it  did  really 
appear  to  be  true;  that  the  poor  girl  appeared  cowed  and 
beaten,  and  that  her  aunt  seemed  a  dragon.  But  he  said, 
in  conclusion,  '  That  is  not  all :  the  girl  is  left  utterly  friend 
less,  and  without  society,  with  this  enormous  fortune,  to  the 
care  of  this  old  dragon  of  an  aunt,  and  to  a  captain  of  dragoons, 
who  is  a  great  rascal.  But  what  is  uglier  than  all  is  this :  old 
Hilton  had  a  son  who  went  to  the  dogs  and  died,  and  the  last 
man  who  knew  anything  about  him  was  this  Captain  Hertford, 
who  has  been  a  flame  of  the  aunt's.'  Now  all  this  don't  look 
over  particularly  nice." 

"  Now  we  had  better  get  on  with  our  work,"  said  Austin. 

"  By  Jove,  we  must !  "  said  Lord  Charles  ;  "  but  you  will 
let  me  know  what  you  are  going  to  do." 

"  Of  course  !     How  can  I  thank  you  enough  ?     Come  on." 

And  on  they  went  like  young  heroes.  At  half  past  three,  it 
was  found  that  Lord  Charles's  handsome  blue  eyes  could  not 
keep  open  any  longer,  in  spite  of  coffee  and  tobacco,  and  that 
the  curly  head  kept  tumbling  down  on  the  "  Riddle  and  Ar 
nold."  Austin  roused  him  up,  and  started  him  across  Tom- 
quad  to  his  rooms  in  Peckwater.  And  Lord  Charles  walked 
straight  across  the  grass,  which  he  had,  we  believe,  no  right  to 
do ;  and  while  in  that  bland,  intoxicated  state,  into  which  men 
get  at  three  or  four  in  the  morning,  a  week  before  examina 
tion,  he  was  thinking  that  there  must  surely  be  more  than 
seventeen  thousand  stars  visible.  He  so  nearly  walked  into 
the  pool,  or  pond,  called  Mercury,  that  he  felt  it  necessary  to 
sit  down  and  congratulate  himself  on  his  narrow  escape. 

And  there  he  found  that  Austin's  dog,  Robin,  had  followed 
him.  He  was  glad  of  this,  for  he  could  talk  to  Robin ;  and 


110  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

• 
Robin  was  most  charmed  by  the  whole  proceeding,  and  sat 

complacently  down  by  the  stone  rim  of  the  pond,  prepared 
for  any  amount  of  conversation. 

"  Robin,"  said  this  silly  young  gentleman,  "let  us  look  .into 
the  pond,  and  see  whether  we  can  tell  our  fortune."  So  he 
leant  over  the  pool,  and  saw,  at  first,  nothing  but  the  gold 
tassel  on  his  cap.  He  took  his  cap  off,  and  looked.  Still  not 
one  hint  of  the  future,  only  the  outline  of  his  handsome  head 
reflected  in  the  water.  The  stars  were  behind  in  the  dark 
blue.  Not  one  single  black  cloud  between  him  and  them. 
O  lying  stars !  0  false,  false  water ! 

But  the  happy,  heavy  head  fell  down  on  something,  and 
Robin  nestled  up  against  him,  and  dog  and  man  fell  fast 
asleep,  there  and  then,  in  the  middle  of  the  quadrangle.  One 
of  the  porters,  who  rose  early  to  let  the  scouts  in,  saw  him 
lying  there,  and  roused  him  up.  In  times  long  after,  a  tall 
gentleman,  stone-blind,  unknown  to  the  porter,  but  whom  you 
will  know  soon,  came  to  the  porter,  and  asked  about  the  cir 
cumstance.  And  the  porter  took  him  to  the  place,  and 
pointed  it  out.  "  His  Lordship  lay  here,  sir,  with  his  head 
on  his  dixenary,  and  *Mr.  Elliot's  dog  along  with  'un ;  and  I 
thought  he  'd  a  caught  his  death  of  cold,  surely." 

"  But  it  never  hurt  him,  you  see,"  said  the  blind  stranger. 

"  Ah !  no,  poor  dear !  it  never  hurt  he.  Talk  about  your 
tufts,  he  were  a  tuft." 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  Ill 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE  very  night  on  which  Lord  Charles  slept  by  Mercury, 
Austin,  dog-tired  as  he  was,  sat  up  and  wrote  this  letter  to  his 
father :  — 

"Mr  DEAR  CHILD, — 

"  If  you  don't  take  my  advice  about  having  your  razors 
properly  set  by  an  l  expert,'  the  end  of  it  will  be  that  you' 
will  be  carried  off  to  Bow  Street,  and  charged  with  attempting 
self-destruction.  The  last  time  I  came  into  your  dressing- 
room,  you  had  an  open  razor  in  your  hand,  and  had  hacked 
your  chin  so,  that  you  were  all  in  a  gore  of  blood.  Besides,  it 
does  not  look  nice  to  go  down  to  your  office  with  your  face 
stuck  all  over  with  patches  of  hat  nap.  If  you  have  no  self- 
respect,  think  of  me. 

"  Now  attend  to  what  I  say,  and  don't  argue,  or  fuss. 
Charles  Barty  and  I  go  into  the  schools  in  five  days.  The 
responsibility  1  feel  in  leaving  you  to  take  care  of  yourself 
will  probably  spoil  my  degree.  Don't  a^d  to  it,  but  obey  me. 

"  Dear  father,  will  you  do  this  ?  Call  on  the  Hiltons,  and 
see  what  is  going  on  there.  Catch  Lord  Saltire,  and  make 
him  tell  you.  It  is  an  ugly  business.  I  don't  know  what  to 
do,  —  I  trust  it  all  to  you.  Only  go  there  and  watch  Captain 
Hertford  and  Aunt  Maria. 

"  I  will  come  up  as  soon  as  the  examination  is  over.  I 
shall  not  wait  for  the  class  list.  I  may  get  a  fourth,  and  I  may 
not.  But  I  shall  be  equally  dear  to  you  either  way,  you  self- 
willed,  conceited  young  person." 

The   answer  was  :  — 

"Mr  DEAR  BOY, — 
"  You  have  made  me  so  happy.     I  will  see  to  what  you 


112  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

mention.  I  thought  you  had  given  her  up  ;  and  I  have  heard 
nothing  new  about  Captain  Hertford.  It  will  be  difficult  for 
me  to  get  anything  out  of  Lord  Saltire,  for  I  hardly  know  him ; 
and  I  don't  think  he  likes  me;  however,  I  will  try.  I  will 
watch  for  you  like  a  terrier  at  a  rat-hole. 

"  What  care  I  what  degree  you  take  ?  Suppose  you  are 
plucked,  come  home  to  me,  my  boy,  and  I  will  teach  you  to 
forget  it.  I  had  rather,  in  fact,  that  you  did  not  take  honors. 
.1  think  that  you  would  do  in  the  world  quite  as  well  without. 
Why  don't  you  slip  in  quietly  for  a  pass  ?  —  but,  by  the  by,  it 
is  too  late,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it." 

(Are  there  such  things  as  white  lies,  after  all  ?  This  was 
either  a  black  one  or  a  white  one,  for  the  old  man  was  in  a 
feverish  state  of  anxiety  about  his  son's  degree,  if  it  were  only 
a  fourth.) 

"  Don't  you  be  an  impertinent  young  jackanapes  about  my 
cutting  myself  shaving ;  it  will  be  a  long  while  before  you  do 
that,  you  monkey  !  " 

Lord  Charles  Barty  and  Austin  went  into  the  schools  de 
voutly  hoping  that  they  might  not  be  "gulfed"  (left  among 
the  pass-men).  But  diligence  and  pluck  will  do  great  things. 
Lord  Charles  and  Austin,  having  compared  notes,  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  was  all  over  with  them,  and  Austin  posted 
off  to  his  father  with  the  cheering  intelligence  that  they  were 
both  probably  "  gulfed."  Austin  had  certainly  got  his  testa 
mur,  and  so  had  his  friend,  but  they  were  both  quite  hopeless, 
—  so  hopeless,  that  on  the  terrible  day  Lord  Charles  actually 
went  into  the  school's  quadrangle,  and  up  to  that  dreadful  little 
door,  and  pushed  into  the  crowd  to  hear  the  lists  read.  He 
thought  one  of  them  might  be  among  the  fourth.  So  he  heard 
the  first  Class  read  through  with  indifference,  but  when  Class 
II.  was  announced,  and  the  first  name  in  that  Class  was 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  113 

"  Barty,  Carolus,  ex  JEde  Christi,"  his  ears  tingled  in  his 
head  with  joy  ;  and  when,  after  reading  through  two  C's  and 
a  D,  the  clerk  of  the  schools  came  to  "  Elliot,  Augustinus,  ex 
JEde  Christi,"  he  sent  his  cap  flying  in  the  air,  and  fairly 
mad :  Austin  and  he,  to  their  unutterable  amazement,  had  got 
seconds. 

Then  an  insane  terror  possessed  him  lest  any  one,  flying  on 
the  wings  of  the  wind,  should  carry  the  news  to  Austin  before 
himself.  So  he  posted  home  to  his  rooms,  told  a  servant  to 
pack  up  a  carpet-bag,  and  away  he  went,  after  getting  a  most 
fearful  "jobation"  from  the  Dean  for  daring  to  appear  in  his 
presence  without  his  cap  and  gown. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  this  impertinence,  my  Lord  ?  E[ow 
dare  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  sir.  I  have  got  a  second,  and  I  am  ex 
cited." 

"  Got  a  second  !  —  bah  !  The  University  is  going  to 
the—" 

"  Deuce  ? "  suggested  Lord  Charles,  who  was  afraid  of 
something  worse. 

"  Dogs,  sir,  dogs !  How  dare  you  say  deuce  in  my  pres 
ence  !  You  can  go  down,  my  Lord." 


CHAPTER    XV. 

"Now,  father,"  said  Austin,  the  first  night  of  his  arrival, 
"  what  have  you  observed  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  a  diligent  and  dutiful  watchman,  Austin  ;  I 
have  been  there  every  day  for  six  days,  but,  unfortunately, 
I  have  observed  nothing  at  all." 


114  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  Then  you  think  that  the  letter  I  wrote  to  you  is  all 
nonsense  ?  " 

"  Far  from  it ;  I  think  you  are  quite  right.  I  know  that 
woman,  Maria  Hilton,  my  dear  lad  ;  I  have  known  her  almost 
all  my  life,  and,  unless  she  has  much  altered,  she  is  just  this,  — 
a  selfish,  unprincipled  shrew." 

"  She  always  struck  me  as  being  something  of  that  sort." 

"  I  guess,  I  need  not  tell  you  why,  that  something  of  this 
sort  is  the  matter.  You  know  that  she  is  independent?" 

"  No ;  I  never  knew  it." 

"  She  had  fifteen  thousand  pounds  by  her  father's  will." 

"  I  did  not  know  that ;  I  always  thought  she  lived  on  her 
brother.  But  what  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Silly  !  it  makes  her  independent,  —  it  gives  an  impudence 
to  her  face,  and  a  loud  tone  to  her  voice  towards  her  little 
niece,  which  she  would  never  have  if  she  were  dependent  on 
her  bounty." 

"  Good  ;  you  are  wiser  than  I." 

"  That  is  very  easy  to  be,  goose  !  Well,  she  has  sailed  her 
boat  in  troubled  waters,  and  so  has  Captain  Hertford.  I  sus 
pect  that  they  have  some  sort  of  mutual  confidence,  and  that 
both  of  them  would  like  to  have  the  whip-hand  of  Eleanor, 
and  of  Eleanor's  six  thousand  a  year.  She  has  no  friends,  — 
her  father  took  good  care  that  she  should  have  none,  by  his 
obstinate  pride,  —  and  at  this  present  moment  I  believe  the 
case  stands  thus:  that  Aunt  Maria  is  trying  to  bully  and 
wheedle  poor  little  Eleanor  into  marrying  Captain  Hertford." 

"Then,"  said  Austin,  "I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,  —  that 
is,  you  and  I  and  Robin." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"  Why,  we  'il  go  to  Wilton  Crescent,  when  both  Aunt  Maria 
and  Captain  Hertford  are  there,  and  I  will  take  a  thick  walk 
ing-stick  and  beat  him  about  the  head  with  it,  while  Robin 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  115 

bites  her  heels,  and  you  pull  her  nasty  old  cap  and  wig  off,  and 
chuck  them  out  of  window." 

"  I  think  that  will  be  the  best  plan,"  said  Mr.  Elliot.  "  Then 
I  will  come  with  you  at  two  to-morrow,  if  I  can  get  away 
from  the  office.  Don't  bring  too  big  a  stick,  or  else  you  will 
kill  the  man,  and  get  hung,  and  that  is  very  disagreeable,  — 
there  are  always  such  a  lot  of  people  to  stare  at  you." 

"  Then  that  plan  of  proceedings  is  settled,"  said  Austin, 
.  \vlio  knew  how  his  father  loved  a  "  dry  joke." 

"  Yes,  that  is  settled ;  don't  be  later  than  two,  and  don't 
bring  anything  thicker  than  a  malacca  cane.  Now  let  us 
change  the  subject.  Do  you  know  the  Isle  of  Ronaldsay,  by 
Jura  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  been  there,"  said  Austin,  knowing  that,  now 
his  father  had  had  his  joke,  his  real  plan  was  coming.  "  I 
know  the  song  :  — 

'  On  Jura's  heath  how  sweetly  swell 

The  murmurs  of  the  mountain  bee; 
How  sweetly  mourns  the  writhed  shell 
On  Jura's  shore,  its  parent  sea.' 

Is  that  any  use  to  the  present  discussion  ?  " 

"  A  great  deal.  I  see  you  are  in  love  with  the  island,  and 
I  shall  probably  want,  you  to  start  there  to-morrow  night,  if 
you  can  get  ready." 

"Hadn't  I  better  start  to-night  ?"  said  Austin,  very  much 
amused,  but  knowing  perfectly  well  that  his  father  had  a 
scheme  in  his  head,  and  a  good  one  too. 

"  No,  not  to-night.  Before  you  start,  I  want  to  see  whether 
Miss  Elliot,  senior,  has  any  objection  to  come  for  a  cruise  in 
the  Pelican.  She  has  two  strings  to  her  bow,  and  I  am  the 
second  one.  She  will  probably  come,  and  bring  her  niece. 
The  Pelican  is  lying  at  Liverpool,  waiting  to  take  me  through 
the  Western  Islands.  If  Miss  Hilton  dreams  that  you  are  to 


116  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

be  one  of  the  party,  she  either  won't  come,  or  won't  bring  her 
niece.  Therefore,  I  order  you,  as  soon  as  I  have  my  answer 
to-morrow,  to  depart  suddenly  and  secretly  to  Glasgow,  and 
from  thence  to  get  the  best  way  you  can  to  Jura,  from  Jura 
to  Donaldsay,  from  thence  across  the  Kyle  to  Ronaldsay,  and 
find  out  as  much  as  you  can  about  the  set  of  the  tide  through 
the  Sound  of  Islay  before  I  arrive  in  the  Pelican." 

"  By  Jove,"  said  Austin,  "  you  are  a  jewel." 

"  So  the  plan  of  pulling  off  Aunt  Maria's  wig  falls  through 
for  the  present,  then,"  said  Mr.  Elliot. 

"  For  the  present,"  said  Austin. 

"  O,  only  for  the  present,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Elliot. 
"  Good  night ;  mind  your  candle  against  the  curtains." 

The  next  evening  Austin  waited  for  Lord  Charles  at  Pad- 
dington,  for  he  knew  that  he  would  come  with  the  news  of  the 
class-list.  He  heard  the  astounding  intelligence  of  his  friend's 
good  fortune  and  his  own  ;  and,  just  giving  himself  time  to  tell 
his  friend  the  neat  little  plan  about  the  Island  of  Ronaldsay, 
he  jumped  into  a  Hansom  cab,  and  told  the  man  to  go  to 
Mortlake. 

The  man  did  not  seem  to  know  where  it  was,  so  Austin 
said,  "  Go  to  Putney,  then  ! " 

Now,  in  the  year  1845,  telling  a  man  to  go  to  Putney  was 
the  same  as  telling  a  man  to  go  to  the  deuce.  And  so  the 
cabman  took  off  his  nose-bag  (or  rather,  the  horse's  nose-bag), 
and  said,  «  Bar  sell !  " 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  the  man  ?  "  said  Austin.  "  Did  n't 
you  hear  me  tell  you  to  go  to  Putney  ?  " 

The  man  strapped  the  nose-bag  under  his  seat,  took  up  the 
strut,  and  mounted  the  box  ;  then  he  opened  the  trap-door 
above  Austin's  head,  and,  looking  down  on  him,  said, — 

<l  I  think  you  told  me  to  go  to  Putney  just  now." 

"  Confound  it !     What  is  the  matter  with  the  man  ?  " 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  117 

"  Well,  noAV,  look  here,"  said  the  man.  "  A  cabman  has 
his  feelings  the  same  as  any  other  man.  You,  and  such  as 
you,  may  think  that  he  ain't,  but  he  have.  And  when  them 
feelings  is  lacerated,  he  naterally  cuts  up  rough.  I  never  said 
nothink  to  you,  but  without  provercation  you  tells  me  to  go  to 
Putney.  Now  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  I'm  blessed  if  I  don't  go, 
and  you  may  take  your  change  out  of  that !  "  And  go  he  did. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  this  little  escapade  on  the  cabman's 
part,  he  would  have  started  an  instant  sooner,  and  would  not 
have  seen  Lord  Charles  walk  past  him  just  before  the  horse 
got  in  motion,  walking  between  Captain  Hertford  and  a  man 
whom  Austin  knew  as  Captain  Jackson,  a  trifling  circum 
stance,  but  well  remembered  after.  "  Charles  has  got  among 
the  Tories,"  he  said  to  himself.  And  so  Charles  had. 

We  must  pass  over  Mr.  Elliot's  sensations  on  hearing  of 
Austin's  good  fortune.  He  was  both  astonished  and  delighted. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  he  said  to  himself,  "  if  the  dear  boy  has 
got  a  second  with  so  little  exertion,  his  talents  must  be  of  first- 
rate  order.  See  how  idle  and  giddy  that  lad  has  been,  by 
Jove  !  That  lad  can  do  anything  after  this.  An  idle,  giddy 
young  butterfly,  and  a  second :  by  Jove,  it  is  amazing ;  he  will 
take  the  world  by  storm  :  for  —  with  his  manners,  and  temper, 
and  talents,  he  '11  take  the  world  by  storm.  I  am  glad  he  was 
idle  ;  it  is  a  great  comfort  to  me  that  he  was  idle.  It  has 
shown  whtit  he  is  made  of.  A  second,  too  !  " 

Mr.  Elliot  either  did  not  know,  or  did  not  choose  to  remem 
ber,  how  painfully  Charles  had  worked,  and  he  did  not  know 
the  awful  gulf  there  was  between  Austin's  second  and  a  first. 
Austin  would  not  have  undeceived  him  for  ten  thousand 
pounds  that  night. 

They  dined  together  alone.  If  any  young  gentleman,  read 
ing  these  pages,  makes  the  reflection  that  it  must  have  been 
rather  a  bore  for  Austin  to  dine  tete-a-tete  with  his  father,  let 


118  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

me  assure  him  that  on  this  occasion  it  was  not  the  case. 
Neither  of  them  bored  the  other.  Once,  just  after  dinner, 
Mr.  Elliot,  looking  across,  under  the  lamp,  caught  Austin's 
eyes  gazing  affectionately  at  him.  He  took  no  notice,  but 
Austin  looked  so  handsome,  so  good,  so  triumphant,  that  the 
good  man  went  up  to  his  dressing-room  for  a  moment  to  look 
for  his  spectacles. 

Perhaps  that  was  the  happiest  night  of  all.  I  cannot  say, 
for  Austin  had,  from  childhood,  waded  on  breast-high  among 
summer  flowers,  and  had  hardly  known  sorrow.  That  merry 
face  had,  however,  the  capability  of  a  different  expression,  — 
an  expression  of  sorrow  and  furious  anger  combined,  such  as 
one  sees  in  the  face  of  a  child  \vhen  it  is  what  we  call  "  very 
naughty  "  ;  a  look  which  at  the  same  time  pleads  for  pity  and 
hurls  defiance.  No  man  but  one  had  ever  seen  that  expres 
sion  on  Austin's  face,  and  that  one  man  only  on^one  occasion. 
The  man  was  Captain  Hertford,  and  the  occasion  was  that  of 
their  drive  together  from  Lyn  y  Rhaiadr  to  Ban  go r. 

"  And  now,  dad,"  said  Austin,  lolling  on  the  sofa,  "  about  — 
I  beg  pardon  —  anent  Ronaldsay." 

"  You  ought  to  have  started  to-night,  monkey ;  and  you 
should  have,  if  you  had  got  a  beggarly  third,  or  anything  of 
that  sort.  Of  course,  I  am  bitterly  disappointed  at  your  miss 
ing  your  first ;  and  I  think  that,  after  such  a  fiasco,  you  had 
better  get  out  of  the  way  till  people  have  forgotten  all  about  it." 

"Child,  child,"  said  Austin,  without  moving,  "you  are  out 
of  your  mind  !  " 

"  I  think  it  will  be  the  best  way.  Start  for  Glasgow  to 
morrow  morning,  and  after  Glasgow  you  must  go  north  by 
post." 

"  How  many  stamps  shall  I  want  ?  " 

"  By  post,"  said  Mr.  Elliot,  scornfully,  "  and  get  across  the 
Kyle  of  Ronaldsay  in  one  of  the  fishing-boats." 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  119 

"  Very  well,"  said  Austin  ;  "  now  tell  me  this.  What  do 
you  think  of  Eleanor  ?  " 

"  You  mean  really  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  mean  really." 

"  Well,  I  think  she  has  more  determination  and  strength  of 
character  in  her  little,  close-set  mouth  than  fifty  Aunt  Marias, 
and  that  if —  well,  if  there  is  what  you  young  fellows  coarsely 
call  a  row,  that  she  might  beat  Aunt  Maria.  But  she  is  an 
affectionate  and  sensitive  little  thing,  and  it  will  require  some 
thing  very  much  out  of  the  way  to  make  her  show  fight  at  all ; 
and  Aunt  Maria  is  coarse  and  ill-tempered,  though  cowardly  ; 
and  she  will  bully  that  little  thing,  and  frighten  her  into  sub 
mission,  until —  until  —  something  or  another  happens  to  make 
little  Eleanor  show  fight.  There  !  " 

"  A  lame  and  impotent  conclusion,"  said  Austin.  "  Good 
nhrht." 


• 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

ALL  the  coast  of  Argyleshire,  and  the  Mull  of  Cantire,  and 
the  mountains  beyond,  were  wakening  up  under  the  same  sun 
which  decorated  Ben  More  of  Ronaldsay  with  ribs  of  gold. 
Those  who  stood  on  the  rough  little  pier  in  front  of  the  few 
fishing  huts  which  make  the  village  of  Ronaldsay,  and  looked 
eastward,  saw  the  fields  on  the  mainland  gleaming  with  the 
gold  of  spring,  and  behind  them,  a  wilderness  of  purple  moun 
tain  flecked  and  dotted  with  wreaths  of  silver  mist,  flying  and 
dissolving  before  the  morning  sun.  Those  who  turned  and 
looked  westward  saw  the  sheets  of  heath  rolling  up  into  the 
great  sharp  mountain,  embroidered  with  a  curious  fretwork  of 
bright  green  grass  from  beside  the  rocky  watercourses.  But 


120  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

whether  they  looked  east  or  west,  there  was  a  softness  in  the 
air,  and  a  gladness  in  their  hearts,  which  told  them  spring  was 
come,  and  that  the  winter,  so  terrible  to  them,  poor  souls,  had 
gone  howling  off  to  the  northward. 

The  wind  was  south,  and  the  tide,  pouring  down  the  Kyle 
of  Ronaldsay,  knocked  up  a  little  sea.  And  through  that  sea 
a  boat  with  two  sails  came  leaping,  and  springing,  and  plunging 
towards  the  shore ;  and  when  she  was  near  enough,  three  or 
four  fine  fellows  jumped  into  the  surf,  and  had  her  high  and 
dry  in  no  time. 

And  then  from  this  boat  there  dismounted  a  young  gentle 
man,  and  his  portmanteau,  and  his  dog:  the  like  of  which 
young  gentleman  and  his  portmanteau  they  had  never  seen 
before ;  but  the  like  of  whose  dog  they  had  seen  very  often 
indeed.  It  was  Austin  and  Robin.  Austin  stood,  splendidly 
attired,  handsome,  good-humored,  looking  among  the  surround 
ing  highlands ;  and  Robin  was  making  friends  with  three  or 
four  collies  exactly  like  himself,  and  half  a  hundred  short- 
legged  terriers. 

And  as  he  stood  upon  the  beach,  an  old  man  —  almost  the 
only  one  who  could  speak  English  with  that  courteous  inde 
pendence  which  we  admire  so  much  in  the  Scotch,  both  High 
land  and  Lowland,  when  it  does  not  develop  into  impertinence 
—  asked  "  what  he  could  do  for  his  honor  ?  "  . 

"  A  very  well-timed  question,  sir,"  said  Austin.  "  I  want 
to  stay  here  for  a  week." 

The  old  fisherman  at  once  did  what  Scotchmen  always 
seem  to  do  in  a  difficulty,  —  sent  for  the  minister ;  and  the 
minister  did  what  Scotch  ministers  always  do  when  they  are 
sent  for,  —  came. 

"  There  is  not  a  place  in  the  island  into  which  you  can  put 
your  head,  sir,  except  my  house,"  said  he,  the  instant  he 
caught  sight  of  Austin,  saying  i  Gaelic,  "  Take  that  gentle- 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  121 

man's  portmanteau  up  to  the  manse  instantly."  At  all  events, 
up  to  the  manse  it  went ;  shout  the  gentleman,  "  Hi ! "  and 
"  Hold  hard ! "  never  so  loudly.  \ 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Austin,  "  I  never  dreamt  of  invading 
you  like  this.  But,  to  answer  for  my  respectability,  I  have 
got  a  letter  of  introduction  from — " 

"  Never  mind,  sir.  Just  think  what  an  enormous  windfall  an 
educated  gentleman  is  to  me.  A  week  only,  said  you,  sir  ?  " 

"Not  more." 

"  I  would  it  were  a  year.    Are  you  in  Parliament,  sir  ?  " 

"Not  yet,"  said  Austin,  blushing. 

"  If  you  were,  I  would  ask  you  to  say  a  word  for  us  poor 
islanders,  sir.  The  winters  here  are  unco  long,  sir,  and  we 
are  very,  very  poor.  I  will  show  you  the  wonders  of  our  island, 
sir.  I  cannot  show  you  a  natural  temple,  like  Staffa,  or  an 
artificial  one,  like  lona ;  but  I  will  show  you  how  men  can 
keep  body  and  soul  together  under  very  adverse  circum 
stances,  and  be  patient,  honest,  and  godly  the  while.  And 
when  you  are  in  Parliament,  you  '11,  may  be,  remember  the 
Island  of  Ronaldsay,  and  speak  a  word  for  the  Scottish  poor." 

"  But  what  does  your  landlord  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  The  island  is  a  loss  to  him ;  and  who  could  be  foolish 
enough  to  pitch  money  into  these  bogs?  Our  place  is  in 
Canada,  I  fear.  The  winter  is  very  long,  and  we  are  very, 
very  poor." 

"  I  beg  to  call  your  attention  to  the  fact,  my  dear  sir,  that 
you  have  not  read  my  letter  from  the  Mactavish." 

"  And  I  beg  to  observe,  my  dear  sir,  that  I  welcomed  you 
to  my  house  before  I  knew  you  had  one,"  answered  the  minis 
ter.  "Why,  my  dear  sir,  if  you  were  deaf  and  dumb,  the 
mere  sight  of  your  clothes  would  make  you  welcome.  We 
see  no  dyed  garments  from  Bozrah  here.  The  Mactavish 
would  pine  and  die  in  breeks,  sir." 
6 


122  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  He  is  a  good  fellow,  though." 

"  He  is,  sir.  He  has  the  inexcusable  fault  of  poverty  ;  but 
that  is  nigh  his  only  one." 

"  How  come  the  family  to  be  so  poor  ?  " 

"An  old  story.  In  1545,  or  thereabout,  his  grandfather 
went  away  to  Edinburgh,  with  some  long-legged,  young  High 
land  chiels ;  and  he  wandered  south,  the  loon,  past  Dunbar 
and  Carlisle,  to  a  place  they  call  Derby,  or  some  such  name. 
The  daft,  rintherout  callant.  And  the  government  asked 
where  he  was  going,  and  he  said  to  London.  And  so  they 
hanged  him  at  Carlisle,  and  the  present  estates  came  into  the 
family  by  his  son's  wife." 

"  And  this  happened  so  long  ago  as  1545  ?"  said  Austin, 
laughing. 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  a  sly  laugh. 
"It  may  have  been  1545,  1645,  or  even  1745.  I  am  only 
sure  of  one  thing,  that  it  was  na  1845."  And,  by  the  time  he 
had  made  his  little  joke,  they  had  got  to  the  manse. 

"  By  the  by,"  said  the  minister,  before  going  in,  "  you 
know  that  we  had  him  here  for  two  nights  in  this  very 
house." 

"  What,  the  Pr—  " 

"The  Prince,  sir." 

« Indeed ! " 

"Yes,  sir.  Two  nights  after  the  Stornaway  business,  he 
landed  here.  The  wind  was  strong  from  the  west,  and  he 
was  driven  across  to  Ronaldsay." 

"  Yet  I  thought  I  could  have  accounted  for  every  hour  of 
his  time  between  Lewis  and  Benbecula,"  said  Austin. 

"A  mistake,  my  dear  sir.  I* can  show  you  the  bedroom 
where  he  slept.  —  Is  it  true  that  Sir  Robert  is  going  to  continue 
the  income-tax  in  spite  of  the  surplus  (not  that  it  matters  to 
me,  God  knows)  ;  and  can  you  explain  me  why  ?  Only  as  a 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  123 

matter  of  curiosity :  for  we  are  too  poor  here  to  mind  income- 
taxes  ;  but,  God  be  praised,  we  are  not  so  poor  as  the  Donald- 
say  folk." 

"  Not  so  poor  as  the  Donaldsay  folk."  Those  words  dwelt 
with  Austin.  He  had  never  seen  poverty  before,  and  he  told 
the  good  minister  so  frankly.  He  saw  enough  now.  Chronic 
poverty  and  want  of  the  most  hideous  kind.  The  row  of  cot 
tages,  or  rather  hovels  by  the  harbor  side,  were  miserable 
enough  ;  but  it  was  up  among  the  little  cot  farms  in  the  hill 
that  he  saw,  for  the  first  time,  what  utter  poverty  meant ;  up 
in  these  hovels  on  the  hillside,  built  with  loose  stone  (there  is 
no  lime  in  Eonaldsay),  through  which  every  wind  of  heaven 
blew,  summer  and  winter  ;  with  their  little  patches  of  oats  and 
potatoes.  Here,  indeed,  was  more  than  Irish  misery. 

"  We  depend,"  said  the  minister,  "  mostly  on  our  potatoes 
here.  Ronaldsay  is  a  cold  island,  and  oats  are  sweer  to  ripen. 
The  potatoes  here  look  nice." 

Poor  fellow  !  He  did  not  dream,  that  these  same  potatoes, 
their  only  hope,  would  have  turned  to  stinking  carrion  before 
August. 

As  for  Austin,  he  went  in  and  out  of  these  hovels  with  his 
friend  the  minister  all  the  first  morning ;  and  then  began 
thinking  for  himself,  perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  :  with 
what  degree  of  correctness  the  reader  must  judge.  "  All  this 
silly  windy  turbulence  in  Ireland,"  he  thought,  "  has  origin  in 
very  great  part  from  chronic  poverty.  And  yet  here  are  a 
race  of  men,  as  poor  as  the  poorest  Irish,  superior  to  the  Irish 
in  physique  and  intelligence,  by  the  most  enormous  interval ; 
a  race  who  in  courage  and  endurance  are  notoriously  not  sur 
passed  in  the  world  ;  a  race  attached  to  particular  religious 
tenets  as  firmly  as  the  Irish  ;  one  might  almost  say  a  priest- 
ridden  race ;  and  yet  what  does  one  find  ?  Patience  instead 
of  turbulence,  manly  independence  instead  of  servility,  and 


124  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

an  almost  entire  absence  of  crime,  instead  of  continued  horri 
ble  outrages.  It  was  a  puzzle. 

"  How  do  you  account  for  it,  Mr.  Monroe?  "  said  he,  address 
ing  the  clergyman. 

"  For  what,  sir  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  looking  quietly  up. 

"  For  what  I  have  been  saying." 

"  You  have  been  saying  nothing." 

And  no  more  he  had,  but  only  thinking. 

He  apologized,  and  stated  his  case. 

"  The  Irish,"  said  the  minister,  strongly,  "  are  a  priest-rid 
den  people." 

"  So  are  the  Scotch,"  said  Austin. 

"  I  wish  ye  were  just  a  minister  yersell,  ye  'd  ken  how  much 
truth  there  was  in  that ;  if  ye  had  the  handling  o'  em,  ye  'd 
find  na  a  thrawner  lot  than  ye  are  thinking,"  replied  the  old 
man,  laughing.  "  But,  even  if  there  were  a  grain  of  truth  in 
your  assertion  of  their  being  priest-ridden,  you  must  still  allow 
that  your  Scottish  minister  is  a  superior  man  altogether  to 
your  Irish  priest." 

"  Why  should  I  allow  that?  ""said  Austin. 

"  For  politeness'  sake,"  said  the  minister.  "  But  I  will  tell 
you  a  secret.  Not  only  are  the  Scottish  ministers  a  higher 
class  of  men  than  the  Irish  priests,  but,  what  is  of  more  im 
portance,  the  Scottish  population  is  as  superior  to  the  southern 
Irish  population  as  a  horse  is  superior  to  a  donkey." 

"  That  is  a  libel,"  said  Austin. 

"  The  greater  the  truth  the  greater  the  libel,  Master  Oxon 
ian,"  said  the  minister. 

"  But  I  won't  have  it,"  said  Austin ;  "  I  have  seen  very 
noble  Irish  people." 

"  Well,  then,  we  must  put  some  of  it  down  to  education. 
There  is  the  fact,  account  for  it  how  you  may." 

"  But  look  here,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Austin.     "  Can't-  one  do 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  125 

anything  among  these  folks  ?  I  mean,  can  I  do  nothing  ?  I 
have  money.  If  you  were  to  point  out  proper  cases  to  me, 
could  n't  I  leave  money  with  them  ?  You  hesitate,  because 
the  lark  is  singing  overhead.  Think  of  the  horrible  long 
winter  which  will  come  on  us  so  suddenly,  and  then  say 
whether  or  no  you  dare  refuse  my  offer." 

"  We  are  not  beggars,  Mr.  Elliot.  We  have  no  claim  on 
you." 

"  I  tell  you  that  you  have.  These  are  the  first  poor  I  have 
ever  seen,  God  forgive  me.  I  have  no  tenantry.  I  have  no 
poor  with  more  claim  on  me  than  these  poor  souls.  Why,  I 
gave  nine  pounds  for  this  pin  which  is  in  my  scarf,  the  other 
day.  No  claim,  quotha!" 

The  old  man  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  spoke  low 
and  quiet.  "  I  dare  not  decline  to  take  any  money  that  you 
may  leave,  Mr.  Elliot ;  no,  I  dare  not,  when  I  think  of  the 
winter  which  is  coming.  I  may  never  account  to  you  for  that 
money,  but  I  will  account  to  Christ.  He  will  be  a  more  inex 
orable  auditor  than  you,  Mr.  Elliot.  You  have  guessed,  sir, 
in  some  way,  what  we  want.  We  want  money.  We  have 
no  circulation  of  money.  We  have  here  potatoes  and  oats, 
every  bit  of  which  we  require,  and  fish,  which  we  want  also ; 
but  which,  being  our  only  staple  of  trade,  must  be  sacrificed 
in  Glasgow,  to  get  cash  for  tobacco  and  groceries.  We  have 
no  circulation  of  money.  The  Mactavish,  who  would  give  the 
coat  off  his  back,  has  to  educate  his  sons,  and  gets  no  rent 
from  the  island.  He  leaves  us  alone.  We  can  ask  no  more, 
and  have  no  right  to  ask  so  much.  But  he  sins  against  his 
tenantry  and  himself." 

"How?" 

"  His  stomach  is  too  high  to  let  the  shootings.  It  lies  with 
you  and  him  to  make  Konaldsay  almost  a  Paradise.  You  are 
rich.  If  you  could  persuade  him  to  let  you  the  shootings,  and 


126  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

were  only  to  live  here  three  months  in  the  year,  it  would  make 
a  wonderful  difference  in  Konaldsay.  You  have  no  idea  what 
the  circulation  of  another  three  hundred  pounds  a  year  in  the 
island  would  be." 

"  Is  there  any  game  ?  "  asked  Austin. 

"  JN"ot  much,"  said  the  minister,  "  at  present ;  but  if  you 
would  take  the  island,  /  would  take  care  there  should  be.  I 
would  use  my  influence,  my  dear  sir.  If  — " 

"  Priestcraft !  "  said  Austin. 

"  You  are  a  daft  young  gentleman,  sir,  and  I  am  very  angry 
with  you.  But  listen  to  reason.  You  will  want  a  moor  some 
day  :  go  round  our  island,  and  examine  its  capabilities." 

"  I  will.  Now  here  is  an  envelope,  which  you  must  pledge 
yourself  not  to  open  till  I  am  gone." 

This  envelope  contained  an  I  O  U  from  Austin  to  Mr. 
Monroe  for  fifty  pounds.  The  reader  must  form  his  own 
opinion  on  this  piece  of  extravagance. 

Austin  was  there  for  ten  days  ;  and  before  three  days  were 
passed,  he  had  managed,  by  a  careless  bonhommie,  or  possibly 
by  some  quality  far,  far  higher  than  that,  to  make  himself  be 
loved  by  every  one  in  the  island  whom  he  met ;  for  there  was 
about  him  a  great-hearted  geniality  which  no  one  could  resist. 
The  Duchess  of  Cheshire  had  said  that  Charles's  new  friend 
seemed  a  very  lovable  person ;  and  now  old  Elspie  Macdon- 
ald,  whose  grandsons  had  been  across  to  Ireland,  hobbled  up 
to  the  manse,  with  her  dreadful,  wrinkled  old  face  below  her 
shoulders,  and  gave  him  a  great  shell,  —  "a  Chama  cor,"  — 
and  refused  the  half-crown  that  Austin  offered  her.  Austin 
knew  as  much  about  shells  as  about  the  Rosetta  stone  or  the 
Fonetic  Nuz  ;  but  he  saw  that  the  old  crone  meant  him  a 
high  compliment,  and  let  her  see  that  he  did. 

A  noble  young  kilted  Highlander  was  told  off,  by  reason  of 
his  speaking  English,  to  show  him  the  round  of  the  island. 


AUSTIN   ELLIOT.  127. 

"  A  remarkable  laddie,  sir/'  said  the  minister ;  "  a  Franken 
stein  monster  of  my  ain  making.  I  was  fearful  at  one  time 
that  I  had  lent  my  hand  to  the  making  of  a  poet,  but  that  sin 
has  been  spared  me  among  others.  He  bolts  knowledge  in  a 
brutal  and  gluttonous  way,  sir,  without  chewing,  like  a  dog 
swallowing  meat,  —  a  gobble  and  a  swallow,  and  then  ready 
for  more.  But  he  has  a  dog's  digestion,  sir ;  it  doesna  turn 
to  wind  wi'  him,  for  which  we  must  be  thankful.  If  ye  have 
lent  your  hand  to  pit  seven  devils  of  education  into  a  man,  ye 
would  choose  a  man  of  smaller  carcass.  For  if  such  a  one  as 
Gil  Macdonald  gangs  awa'  among  the  tombs,  it  will  be  no 
safe  for  the  passers-by." 

So  for  eight  days  Austin  brushed  the  heather,  led  by  his 
long-legged  friend,  returning  to  the  manse  at  nightfall,  as 
happy  as  a  king  and  as  tired  as  a  dog.  His  eight  happy  days 
were  gone  before  he  could  look  round. 

The  two  young  men,  starting  early  one  morning,  walked 
westward  through  the  great  bog  which  fills  up  the  centre  of 
the  Island  of  Ronaldsay,  with  the  sharp  crystalline  peak 
of  Ben  More  of  Ronaldsay  right  before  them,  lying  in  a  dark 
brown  cone  above  the  mists.  And  as  they  toiled  across  the 
bog,  through  the  morning,  they  saw  that  mist  dissolving,  curl 
ing,  brooding,  in  dark  hollows,  like  piles  of  wool ;  rising  in 
fantastic  wreaths,  which  were  melted  and  swept  away  by  the 
sea-breeze ;  and,  as  a  last  poor  resource,  hiding  in  clefts  and 
glens,  only  to  perish  ignominiously  before  the  steady  blaze  of 
the  sun,  as  he  towered  stronger  and  stronger  each  moment 
over  the  distant  hills  of  Argyleshire. 

So  on  through  the  bog,  until  the  heather  began  to  roll  and 
rise,  and  then  leap  up  into  scarps  and  terraces,  and  then  run 
into  long  ribs,  along  which  they  walked,  and  saw  mirror-like 
lakes,  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  feet  below.  Some  were  per 
fectly  calm,  and  some  streaked  with  bands  of  frosted  silver,  as 


128  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

the  wind,  wandering  into  the  sheltered  corries,  caught  the  sur 
face  here  and  there.  Then  there  was  no  more  heather,  but  a 
steep  cone  of  yellow  grass  and  gray  stone.  And  last  of  all 
the  summit,  —  a  breezy  platform  twelve  feet  square.  Below, 
the  ocean,  with  a  hundred  fantastically  shaped  islands ;  above, 
the  vast  blue  sky ;  and  around,  silence,  except  the  gentle 
whispering  of  the  south  wind  among  the  grass  stalks. 

"  Gil !  Gil ! "  said  Austin,  after  a  pause.  "  This  is  a  glori 
ous  country." 

"  Ay,  it's  a  braw  country,"  replied  Gil,  "  in  summer  time. 
But  we  are  unco  poor,  and  the  winters  are  very  long." 

"  I  shall  think  of  you  in  the  long  winter  nights,  Gil,"  said 
Austin.  "  The  winter  nights  are  very  long." 

"  Ay,  indeed  they  are,  both  cold  and  long." 

"  If  you  feel  them  so,  Colin,"  said  Austin,  "  here  in  this  free 
island,  think  what  they  must  be  to  poor  prisoners,  alone  iii 
jail.  Think  of  that.  Suppose  you  or  I  had  to  spend  the 
Avinter  in  jail,  what  should  we  do  ?  " 

"  I  should  ding  out  my  brains  against  the  wa',  and  dee  like 
a  man,"  said  Colin,  rapidly,  snatching  at  the  grass.  "  What 
gars  ye  think  such  things  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Austin,  looking  out  over  the  sea ; 
"  the  rule  of  '  contrairyj  I  fancy.  Being  so  wild  and  free  up 
here,  half-way  between  earth  and  heaven,  makes  one  think  of 
the  other  extreme,  I  suppose." 

"  Ay,"  said  Colin,  "  if  the  gentles  are  no  miserable  by 
visitation  of  God,  it  is  forced  upon  the  puir  bodies  to  make 
themselves  miserable.  It  would  be  a  hard  business  for  some 
of  them  if  it  were  na  for  the  de'il,  who,  like  a  true  gentleman, 
is  aye  ready  to  assist  a  neighbor.  Well,  some  amount  of 
misery  is  necessary  for  the  enjoyment  of  life,  I  suppose.  I 
suppose  you  have  no  wish  ungratified  in  life,  that  ye  make 
yourself  miserable  with  thinking  of  jails  ?  " 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  129 

"I  have  one  wish,"  said  Austin. 

"  I  may  not  speir  what  it  is  ? "  said  Colin,  looking  up 
eagerly. 

"  Ay,  and  get  your  answer,  my  boy.  When  will  the  swal 
lows  be  here  ?  " 

"  In  a  few  days." 

'"  I  am  waiting  for  one  of  them,  —  a  little  house-martin,  that 
shall  be  on  my  bosom  till  one  of  us  die.  I  tried  to  tame  a 
peregrine  once,  but  she  has  soared  to  her  eyrie  and  left  me." 

Colin  understood  him  so  perfectly  that  he  said  not  one  word. 
And  if  you  turn  on  me  and  tell  me  that  there  are  not  here 
and  there  such  Highlanders  as  Gil  Macdonald,  I  turn  on 
you  'and  tell  you  that  you  have  been  staring  at  mountains, 
while  you  should  have  been  studying  men. 

So  Austin,  Gil,  and  the  dog  Robin  sat  for  a  while  on  the 
summit  of  Ben  More  of  Ronaldsay,  and  heard  nothing  but  the 
wind  among  the  grass-stalks. 

"  There  is  not  one  cloud  in  the  sky,"  said  Austin,  at  last. 

"  There  is  one,"  said  Gil.  "  I  have  been  watching  it  this 
ten  minutes.  Look  southward." 

"  By  Jove  ! "  said  Austin,  "  it  is  the  smoke  of  a  steamer." 

"  The  Swallow  is  coming,"  said  Gil. 

"  I  think  so,  indeed,  Gil,"  said  Austin,  peering  eagerly  to 
the  southward.  "  That  must  surely  be  the  Pelican.  Let  us 
hurry  down." 

And  as  they  went,  Gil  said,  "  Listen  to  me,  Mr.  Elliot.  We 
are  going  to  lose  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Austin  ;  "  I  am  away  with  the  Swallow." 

"  Will  you  take  me  with  you  ?  I  will  follow  you  like  a  dog, 
for  as  long  a  time  as  you  appoint,  without  wages.  I  —  " 

"  0,  stop,"  said  Austin ;  "  don't  say  any  more.  It  is  quite 
impossible,  Gil.  I  don't  deserve  this  confidence.  And  I 
have  a  servant  already.  You  cannot  tell  how  you  distress  me." 

6*  I 


130  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  You  should  think  twice  before  you  refuse  me,"  said  Gil, 
eagerly.  "  You  don't  know  the  Highlanders  ;  we  are  so  cun 
ning,  so  brave,  so  devoted.  Think  twice." 

"  It  is  quite  impossible.  Don't  think  me  unkind,  but  it  is 
quite  impossible." 

"  I  '11  think  of  you  in  the  long  winter's  nights,"  said  Gil. 
"  Will  ye  no  come  back  to  us  ?  " 

"  Ay,  that  I  will,"  said  Austin,  eagerly. 

Gil  said  no  more.  By  the  time  they  got  to  the  town  the 
population  were  all  out  on  the  beach,  looking  at  the  Pelican 
as  she  approached,  stemming  the  surf's  current  of  the  Kyle  of 
Ronaldsay  with  her  beautiful  sharp  bows. 

Austin  had  been  prepared  for  this.  His  portmanteau  was 
ready  packed  and  in  the  boat.  The  good  minister  was  ready 
in  the  stern  sheets,  and  two  sturdy  Highlandmen  were  ready 
to  stand  to  their  oars. 

"  Ye  '11  come  back  to  us  again  ?  "  said  an  old  man,  as  he 
jumped  into  the  boat,  acting  as  spokesman  to  the  population. 

"  Ay,  that  I  will,"  said  Austin.     And  so  he  did. 

"  Are  we  to  say  good-by  forever,  Mr.  Elliot  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Monroe,  after  they  were  in  the  boat. 

"  Forever  !  ah,  no  !  "  said  Austin.  "  I  will  come  back 
again.  Think  of  me  in  the  winter-time." 

"  See  here,"  said  Mr.  Monroe,  "  I  have  opened  this  envel 
ope.  You  should  take  it  back.  Can  you  afford  it  ?  " 

"  Tush,  my  dear  sir,  perfectly.  If  I  cannot,  it  is  not  for  you 
to  stand  between  me  and  the  poor.  Come  on  board,  and  let 
me  introduce  you  to  my  father." 

But  the  old  man  would  not.  He  was  shy  of  strangers,  he 
said.  He  begged  Austin  would  excuse  him,  and  Austin 
did  so. 

As  the  boat  neared  the  yacht,  the  steam  was  shut  off.  The 
swell  in  the  Kyle  was  short  and  bubbling.  Before  Austin 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  131 

had  time  to  say  good-by,  there  were  alongside.  In  the  next 
minute,  Robin  was  on  board,  and  the. portmanteau.  In  the 
next,  he  saw  there  was  only  Eleanor  to  receive  him,  and 
then,  looking  over  the  side,  he  saw  that  the  yacht  was  under 
way,  and  that  the  boat  had  sheered  off  for  the  shore,  drop 
ping  astern  every  instant,  as  the  sturdy  rowers  plied  their 
oars  in  the  short,  chopping  sea,  and  the  yacht  slid  on  against 
the  current. 

Then  he  hurried  Eleanor  up  on  the  empty  quarter-deck, 
and  drawing  her  arm  through  his,  bade  her  wave  her  hand 
kerchief,  while  he  stood  bareheaded.  She  did  so,  and  there 
came  a  wild  cheer  from  the  shore.  Soon  after,  the  village 
was  hid  by  a  turn  in  the  Kyle,  and  that  was  the  last  of 
Ronaldsay  for  a  season. 

Gil  Macdonald  had  climbed  up  on  a  little  cliff  near  the 
end  of  the  village,  and  stood  watching  it  all,  with  his  hand 
shading  his  eyes ;  and  then  and  there  he  determined  that  if 
Austin  did  not  come  back  in  a  year,  that  he,  Gil,  would  go 
south,  and  seek  him  again.  For  the  most  extraordinary  thing 
was,  that  our  merry,  gentle  Austin  had,  after  only  one  week's 
acquaintance,  become  a  sort  of  necessity  to  this  noble  young 
Highland  lion.  Here  had  appeared  to  Gil  MacDonald,  fret 
ting,  after  the  manner  of  his  nation,  in  his  miserable  little 
island  prison,  for  the  chance  to  go  forth  into  the  world,  and 
do  battle  with  his  peers,  —  here  had  appeared  to  him  a  noble 
young  Englishman,  a  high-bred  gentleman,  from  the  crown 
of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot,  in  carriage  and  dress  far 
beyond  anything  Gil  had  ever  seen  before;  and  yet  this 
apparition  had  treated  Gil  like  a  gentleman  and  an  equal 
all  the  time  he  had  been  with  him.  The  country  where  such 
as  he  came  from  must  be  the  country  for  a  Highland  lad  to 
win  his  way  in.  And  as  for  Austin  himself,  he  would  follow 
such  a  man  as  that  to  the  very  world's  end. 


132  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

He  felt  something  in  his  hand.  It  was  the  gold  Austin 
had  given  him.  He^almost  felt  inclined  to  throw  it  away, 
but  he  put  it  hastily  in  his  sporran  and  resumed  his  watch. 

The  yacht  slid  round  the  farthest  black  promontory  of 
Ronaldsay,  and  the  spring  twilight  came  creeping  over  Argyle- 
sliire  from  the  east,  till  only  the  summit  of  Ben  More  of 
Ronaldsay  had  a  faint  gleam  of  pink  on  the  side  towards  the 
sun,  who  had  now  fairly  northed  from  his  equinox.  But  still 
Gil  stood  looking  after  the  ship,  with  his  hand  over  his  eyes. 

We  shall  see  how  he  came  south  before  Austin  came  north, 
and  when  and  where  he  found  him. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

Do  you  care  for  the  man  at  the  wheel  ?  I  do  not,  one 
farthing  !  Elsewhere  he  may  be  a  good  man  or  a  bad  man,  or 
may  have  eyes  or  ears ;  but  when  he  is  at  the  wheel,  he  be 
comes  the  man  at  the  wheel,  and  is  not  supposed  to  have  any 
more  consciousness  of  passing  events  than  the  spanker-boom. 

As  a  rule,  you  will  find  that  people  do  not  mind  the  man  at 
the  wheel.  They  are  very  apt  to  take  uncommon  little  notice 
of  the  officer  of  the  watch,  but  of  the  man  at  the  wheel  they 
take  actually  none  whatever.  And  Austin  and  Eleanor  on 
this  occasion  never  troubled  their  heads  about  there  being 
such  a  person  in  existence ;  and  as  for  Mr.  Slapper,  the  sail 
ing-master,  he  was  in  the  forecastle  telegraphing  with  his 
arms,  like  a  madman,  to  the  helmsman. 

Eleanor,  it  appeared,  had  been  taken  by  surprise.  She  lutd 
run  up  on  deck  without  her  bonnet ;  >she  had  thrown  a  loose 
gray-hooded  cloak  (what  was  irreverently  called  in  those  days 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  133 

a  fool's-cap  and  bells)  over  her  shoulders,  and  she  had  her 
hand  on  her  head,  to  prevent  her  hair  blowing  about.  She 
looked  positively  beautiful;  and  when  Robin  leaped  upon 
her,  mad  with  joy,  and  her  hair  got  loose,  she  looked  more 
beautiful  still. 

Three  times  they  walked  up  and  down  the  deck  in  silence ; 
but  in  all  her  Majesty's  dominions  —  nay,  in  all  the  woiid  — 
there  were  no  two  hearts  so  light  as  theirs. 

Eleanor  spoke  first.  "I  thought,"  she  said,  "your  dear 
father  looked  guilty.  I  felt  sure  we  should  pick  you  up  some 
where." 

"  Did  Aunt  Maria  guess  ?  " 

"  Foolish  !  no,  or  we  should  not  have  been  here.  And  how 
did  you  like  Ronaldsay,  Austin  ?  "  , 

"  Very  much." 

"  Have  you  fallen  in  love  with  any  one  there  ?  Remember, 
I  insist  on  being  told.  I  always  have  been  told." 

"  Yes,"  said  Austin,  "  I  have  fallen  in  love  at  last." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  her." 

"  You  shall." 

"  You  will  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Austin,  "  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it."  And,  as 
he  said  so,  he  drew  her  towards  him,  and  kissed  her ;  and,  as 
he  did  so,  his  eyes  met  hers,  and  she  saw  it  all  now.  And  her 
heart  was  filled  with  a  peaceful,  happy  content,  and  she  laid 
her  head  upon  his  breast. 

She  had  won  him  ;  won  him  from  all  of  them  ;  the  gentlest, 
handsomest,  cleverest  man  in  all  England ;  so  she  thought  iu 
her  pride.  I  should  like  to  have  seen  the  flash  of  furious  scorn 
which  would  have  come  over  that  noble  little  face  if  any  one 
had  told  her  that  she  was  throwing  herself  away,  and  that  with 
her  vast  fortune  she  might  have  married  an  earl.  She  was 
proud  of  her  money,  and  knew  the  value  of  it.  She  was 
doubly  proud  of  it  now.  It  would  be  Austin's. 


134  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  And  so  I  caught  you  all  alone,"  said  Austin. 

"  Yes,  all  alone.     Mr.  Elliot  is  in  the  cabin." 

"  He  is  most  impertinent  and  disrespectful,"  said  Austin. 
"  He  should  have  been  on  deck  to  receive  me.  How  dare  he  ? 
Where  is  Aunt  Maria  ?  " 

"  O  good  gracious,"  said  Eleanor,  eagerly,  "  have  n't  you 
heard  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  have  heard,"  said  Austin.  "  The  sea-gulls 
and  cormorants  told  me,  while  I  was  at  Ronaldsay.  But  I 
should  n't  mind  hearing  your  story  ;  for  they  all  spoke  at  once, 
and  quarrelled,  and  contradicted,  and  I  could  n't  make  out  the 
truth  of  it." 

"  Why,"  said  Eleanor,  "  the  day  before  yesterday,  she  was 
scolding  old -James  on  deck,  and  he  answered  her  just  as  she 
was  at  the  top  of  the  companion,  and  she  turned  on  him  in  her 
lofty,  imperious  way,  and  she  caught  her  foot  on  the  sill,  and 
down  the  ladder  she  went,  head  over  heels,  and  she  has 
bumped  and  bruised  herself  all  over." 

"  Has  she  hurt  herself  much  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  she  is  terribly  cross.  She  sent  for  your  father  to 
her  bedside,  and  requested  him  to  put  her  on  shore  on  a  desert 
island,  with  a  week's  provisions,  and  some  beads  and  toma 
hawks.  For  she  said,  that  might  possibly  purchase  the  for 
bearance  of  savages,  although  she  could  not  that  of  a  pampered 
and  ungrateful  domestic." 

"  She  is  afraid  of  old  James,"  said  Austin. 

"  I  know  she  is ;  and  I  am  afraid  of  her." 

"  You  must  not  be,"  said  Austin. 

"  But  I  am,  and  I  shall  be.  You  don't  know  what  a  terrible 
woman  she  is.  Sometimes  only,  she  is  violent.  But,  at  ordi- 
dinary  times,  she  has  a  continuous  voluble  way  of  scolding, 
which  is  more  dreadful  still.  She  does  not  raise  her  voice,  but 
goes  on  for  half  an  hour  together,  indignantly  asserting  her 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  135 

own  case,  from  different  points  of  view,  until  I  am  confused 
and  frightened.  Any  statement  of  my  case  only  makes  her  go 
over  the  old  ground,  a  note  higher,  for  another  half-hour.  She 
can  fairly  scold  me  into  submission.  And  I  warn  you  that  I 
am  completely  and  utterly  in  her  power.  When  she  takes  to 
scolding  me  in  that  way,  I  have  neither  temper  nor  courage  to 
oppose  her.  Remember  this." 

Austin  reflected  for  a  moment.  I  am  glad,  he  thought,  that 
old  James  forms  part  of  that  household.  "  Eleanor,"  said  he, 
"  do  you  know  who  old  James  is  ?  " 

"  Very  well.  He  was  a  shoeblack-boy,  whom  my  father 
picked  up  out  of  the  streets  for  charity.  They  were  nearly 
the  same  age.  He  came  to  be  his  servant  when  they  were 
both  sixteen.  He  was  at  the  taking  of  the  Bastile  with  my 
father  and  Lord  Liverpool." 

"  It  might  be  considered  only  decently  polite,"  said  Austin, 
"  if  I  were  to  go  and  see  my  father." 

"  And  I  ought  to  go  to  Aunt  Maria." 

"  She  will  be  in  a  pretty  way  when  she  hears  of  this,"  said 
Austin. 

"  Of  what  ?  "  said  Eleanor. 

"  Of  my  having  proposed  to  you,  and  of  your  having  ac 
cepted  me,"  said  Austin.  At  which  Eleanor  ran  away,  and 
Austin  went  down  to  see  his  father. 

Mr.  Elliot  was  sitting  in  the  old  place,  at  the  head  of  the 
cuddy  table,  over  his  maps  and  plans,  and  Austin  said,  "  Well, 
young  fellow." 

And  Mr.  Elliot  said,  "  Aunt  Maria  has  tumbled  down  the 
companion,  and  abraded  herself." 

"  And  I  have  proposed  to  her  niece,  and  have  been  accept 
ed,"  said  Austin.  "  Come  on  deck,  and  let  me  see  your  dear 
old  face  by  sunlight." 

So  the  father  and  son  went  on  deck,  in  the  spring  twilight, 


136  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

as  the  yacht  sped  out  from  the  Kyle  of  Ronaldsay,  into  the 
more  open  sea  beyond,  towards  South  Uist  and  Benbecula. 
The  man  at  the  wheel  may  have  smiled  at  the  little  passages 
he  may  have  noticed  between  Austin  and  Eleanor ;  but  he 
did  not  smile  .when  he  saw  Mr.  Elliot's  arm  round  Austin's 
neck,  and  the  two  heads,  one  so  old  and  the  other  so  young, 
bent  down  together  in  consultation. 

And  so,  through  the  long  spring  evening,  the  steamer 
throbbed  on  her  peaceful  way,  against  the  current,  through 
the  Kyle  of  Ronaldsay.  Right  and  left,  the  rocky  shores 
stooped  down  into  the  green  sea-water,  and  everywhere  land 
and  water  were  divided  by  a  slender  thread  of  silver  surf. 
In  one  place  the  rocks  came  down  gray,  wrinkled,  and  bare, 
clothed  for  the  last  few  feet  only  with  a  band  of  black  sea 
weed.  In  another  the  rock  was  less  abrupt,  and  partly 
feathered  with  ivy  and  yew,  and  here  and  there  a  pleasant 
lawn  of  short  green  turf.  In  some  places  the  rock  fell  away 
altogether,  and  a  sheep-cropped,  limestone  down,  came  rolling 
and  sweeping  to  the  sea,  which  here  was  bounded  by  a  half- 
moon  of  bright  yellow  sand.  In  one  place  there  was  a  large 
fishing  village,  of  whitewashed  stone  cottages,  where  the 
women  sat  at  the  doors  netting  nets,  and  the  old  men  were 
hobbling  about  tinkering  old  boats,  and  where  the  boys 
cheered  them,  and  ran  bare-legged  along  the  shore.  And, 
soon  after,  they  met  the  able-bodied  men  of  this  village,  in 
their  fishing-boats,  drifting  homewards  on  the  tide.  In  one 
place,  along  this  beautiful  strait,  there  was  a  flock  of  sheep, 
feeding  high  overhead,  watched  by  a  little  Highland  laddie, 
whose  dog  barked,  arid  ran  to  and  fro  when  he  saw  the  ship, 
and  whose  bark  was  joyously  echoed  by  happy  Robin  from 
the  deck.  And,  at  another  place,  there  was  a  wee  bit  kirk 
and  a  manse,  on  the  hillside,  with  the  minister  out  in  his 
garden,  who  took  off  his  hat  to  them,  and  whose  courteous 
salute  they  returned  as  the  ship  sped  on. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  137 

"  A  happy  land,  Eleanor,"  said  Austin  ;  "  a  land  of  settled 
faith,  of  intelligence,  of  truth,  and  of  order;  a  land  not  so 
over-populated  but  that  the  best  men  may  be  recognized  and 
revered.  Would  you  like  to  live  here  ?  " 

"  I  would  live  anywhere  with  you,  Austin,  even  in  Italy." 

And  at  night,  as  the  sun  went  down  in  the  west,  the  ship 
began  to  plunge,  and  then  to  roll,  and  she  plunged  and  rolled 
under  the  reeling  stars,  across  the  water  which  lay  between 
the  Kyle  of  Ronaldsay  and  Benbecula,  for  the  south  wind, 
blowing  steadily,  met  the  tides  pouring  southward  through  the 
sleat,  and  the  sea  was  heavy. 

Eleanor  and  Austin  walked  the  deck  until  the  stars  came 
out,  and  the  ship  began  to  dive  and  leap,  and  send  sheets  of 
spray  flying  to  leeward,  and  then  she  went  below.  The  stew 
ard  was  superintending  the  laying  of  a  cloth  for  supper.  Mr. 
Elliot  was  in  his  own  cabin ;  so  Eleanor,  with  an  anxious 
look,  feeling  that  her  time  was  come,  that  there'  was  no  one  to 
delay  and  gossip  with,  made  towards  Aunt  Maria's  cabin. 

Aunt  Maria  was  sitting  up  in  her  bed,  with  her  maid  beside 
her.  She  was  in  an  ill  temper,  and  her  coarse,  violent  face 
looked  more  coarse  and  violent  than  ever.  There  was  some 
thing  worse  than  coarseness  or  violence  in  those  deep-sunk 
eyes  and  knotted  eyebrows,  but  no  one  saw  it  as  yet. 

"Aunt,  dear,"  said  Eleanor,  "what  shall  I  bring  you  for 
supper  ?  " 

"You  wicked  girl!"  said  Aunt  Maria;  "you  miserable 
girl !  So  your  lover  has  come  on  board,  has  he  ?  So  all  this 
voyage  was  a  settled  plan  between  old  Elliot  and  you  to  meet 
this  profligate  young  idiot  at  Ronaldsay !  0,  how  I  do  hate 
meanness  and  ingratitude !  And  look  at  the  low  meanness  of 
this  proceeding !  and  then,  when  you  have  reflected,  if  you 
can  reflect,  on  all  that  I  have  done  for  you,  think  of  the  in 
gratitude  ! " 


138  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

What  Aunt  Maria  had  done  for  Eleanor  was . —  to  live  at 
her  expense  to  save  her  own  income,  and  to  worry  her  life 
out.  Eleanor  knew  this.  But  in  the  presence  of  this  scold 
ing  woman,  with  her  straight,  overhanging  upper  lip,  her 
bushy  eyebrows,  and  her  deep-set  eyes,  she  began  to  feel 
guilty ;  she  was,  as  she  told  Austin,  a  coward,  and  she  said 
nothing. 

"  How  long  has  he  been  on  board  ?  "  snarled  Aunt  Maria  ; 
"  and  what  has  he  said  to  you  ?  " 

"  He  has  been  on  board  about  four  hours,  aunt,"  said 
Eleanor ;  "  as  to  what  he  has  said  to  me,  all  I  care  for  is  this, 
—  he  has  proposed  to  me,  and  I  have  accepted  him." 

"  And  you  have  dared  ?  "  said  Aunt  Maria,  furiously. 

"  Yes,"  said  Eleanor,  quietly,  "  I  have  dared ;  I  dare  do 
anything  when  he  is  beside  me.  If  you  can  get  me  away 
from  him,  you  may  do  anything  with  me.  I  am  afraid  of  you, 
and  you  know  it  ;  but  you  are  afraid  of  him  and  of  his 
father." 

"  Then  you  have  accepted  this  boy,  you  wretched  girl  ? " 
said  Aunt  Maria. 

"  I  have,  aunt." 

"  And  Captain  Hertford." 

"  Captain  Hertford ! "  cried  Eleanor,  the  warm  French 
blood  of  her  mother  coming  to  her  help,  "  that  villain  !  that 
blackleg  !  How  dare  you  couple  my  name  with  his  ?  " 

"  How  dare  I,  you  silly  girl  ?  " 

"  Ay,  how  dare  you  !  You  would  like  him  to  get  possession 
of  me,  and  then,  by  his  sheer  brutality,  to  get  the  management 
of  my  nine  thousand  a  year,  —  you  would  like  that !  " 

"  I  think  you  want  guiding,  child  ;  but  you  are  out  of  your 
mind  to  talk  to  me  like  that." 

"  I  am  not.  You  and  I  and  Captain  Hertford  are  bound, 
together  by  a  tie  of  deep  disgrace ;  no  one  knows  the  truth 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  139 

but  we  three.  Now,  I  am  a  coward,  but  I  am  no  fool,  —  if 
you  press  me  with  that  man's  attentions,  I  will  tell  Austin 
everything." 

"  You  tell  him  !  "  said  Aunt  Maria,  scornfully  ;  "  suppose  1 
were  to  tell  him  ?  " 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Eleanor,  "  he  and  I  should  be  married 
just  the  same  ;  only,  if  I  know  the  chivalrous  soul  of  the  man, 
more  quickly  than  if  you  held  your  tongue.  And  in  this  case, 
also,  our  secret  would  be  worthless.  You  would  be  turned  out 
of  our  house,  —  you  would  have  to  live  on  your  fifteen  thou 
sand  pounds,  and  Captain  Hertford  would  have  to  live  on 
you !  " 

"  Then,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  scornfully,  "  if  you  have  this 
hold  over  us,  why  not  get  rid  of  us  at  once  ?  Why  not  tell 
him  ?  " 

"  Because  he  is  going  into  public  life,  —  because  I  should 
ruin  him  by  hanging  such  a  chain  round  his  neck." 

"  You  are  a  fool ! "  said  Aunt  Maria  ;  "  there  is  hardly  a 
public  man  in  the  country  without  his  skeleton.  Tell  him  :  I 
defy  you  !  You  know  if  you  told  him  he  would  not  marry 
you  ;  that  is  the  truth ! " 

u  It  is  not  the  truth,  Aunt  Maria.  You  are  like  all  entirely 
worldly  people,  one  half  of  you,  a  very  foolish  person  ;  you  cal 
culate  only  by  the  lowest  motives,  and  never  take  higher 
motives  into  consideration.  Austin  is  a  pure,  noble,  high- 
minded  man,  utterly  incapable  of  anything  mean,  and  I  also 
am  acting,  I  believe,  on  the  highest  motives,  in  keeping  this 
disgraceful  secret  from  him.  He  would  marry  me  to-morrow 
if  he  knew  it.  But  he  shall  not  know  it,  for  he  would  never 
have  the  same  fearless  pride  as  he  has  now  if  he  knew  it." 

"  If  he  marries  you,  he  shall  know  it,  and  all  the  world  be 
sides!" 

"  I  think,  aunt,"  said  Eleanor,  quietly,  "  that  it  will  be  bet- 


110  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

ter  for  you  not 'to  break  with  me,  and  my  devoted  old  squire, 
James  ;  I  think  it  will  be  better  for  you  !  "  and,  without  wait 
ing  for  Aunt  Maria's  reply,  she  left  the  cabin. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THIS  was  the  last  voyage  of  the  good  old  Pelican  under  her 
present  master  ;  what  has  become  of  her  now  I  know  not.  I 
have  not  even  heart  to  inquire  whether  or  no  she  is  still  used 
as  the  yacht  of  the  Secretary  to  the  Shoals  and  Quicksands. 
Those  who  loved  every  timber,  plank,  and  bolt  in  her  sail  in 
other  ships  now.  Our  interest  in  them  was  the  connecting 
link  between  us  and  the  ship,  and  when  they  leave  her,  our 
interest  in  the  ship  must  cease.  She  becomes,  as  far  as  this 
story  is  concerned,  only  a  mass  of  wood  and  iron. 

In  life  it  is  not  so.  Our  affection  for  a  ship  one  has  once 
known  well  is  similar  to  our  affection  for  a  house  one  has  once 
lived  in,  but  intensified.  Only  last  year,  I  went  down  to  the 
East  India  Docks,  and  I  came  across  the  Orwell.  It  was  like 
meeting  an  old  friend.  There  was  a  board  which  said  that  I 
must  not  go  on  board,  and  a  steward,  who  tried  to  prevent  me, 
until  I  said  I  knew  her,  upon  which  he  yielded  at  once,  and 
let  me  go  over  the  old  deck,  from  stem  to  stern.  It  is  hard 
when  on  board  a  ship  in  the  docks,  standing  so  unmovably 
still,  to  realize  that  one  has  seen  those  steady,  tapering  masts 
sweeping  wildly  across  the  blotched  stars,  or  those  sharp  bows 
leaping  madly  up  towards  heaven  in  the  agony  of  the  storm  ; 
to  recall  the  reeling  and  rolling  and  plunging  of  the  vast 
inert  mass  under  one's  feet,  now  resting  so  quietly  from  her 
labor. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  141 

* 
Before  the  morning  dawned  the  Pelican  had  threaded  her 

way  through  the  intricate  channel  between  North  Uist  and 
Benbecula,  and  was  steaming  easily  along  under  the  cliffs  of 
the  latter  island,  and  about  nine  a  preventive  boat  came  off, 
and  Mr.  Elliot  went  on  shore  in  her. 

"  The  glass  is  dropping,  sir,"  said  the  sailing-master,  "  and 
it  is  banking  up  to  the  west." 

"  Make  haste,  father,"  said  Austin  ;  "  don't  be  long.  The 
glass  is  really  falling  very  fast." 

"  Them  as  wants  to  know  about  dropping  glasses,"  said  a 
voice  behind  Austin,  "should  take  my  place,  (and  Lord 
amighty  knows  they're  welcome  to  it),  and  then  they'd 
know  what  it  meant.  Them  huzzies  of  ours  is  always  at 
it.  Why,  I  dreamp  last  night  as  I  see  the  hull  bilin  of  'em 
come  down  the  kitching  stairs,  one  atop  of  the  other,  with  no 
less  than  six  dozen  of  pipe-stemmed  wines,  and  all  the  cut 
custards." 

"  The  young  women  do  break  a  great  deal  of  glass,  I  sup 
pose,  Mr,  James,"  said  the  good-natured  sailing-master. 

"  Ah !  "  said  James,  "  I  believe  you  there.  They  gets  a 
tittling  one  another  on  the  stairs,  and  down  they  goes.  And 
out  she  comes  in  her  dirty  old  flannel  dressing-gown,  and  gives 
'em  all  warning  over  the  banisters.  She 's  been  a-trying 
falling  down  stairs  herself  now ;  but  I  ain't  hearn  of  anybody 
giving  she  warning." 

This  strong  personal  allusion  to  Aunt  Maria  forced  Austin 
to  stop  a  silent  internal  laughter,  which,  like  Mr.  Weller,  he 
was  trying  to  "  come,"  and  turn  round. 

"  Well,  James,  how  are  you  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Breaking  up  rapidly,  sir,  and  thank  you  kindly,"  said 
James. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  Austin,  with  perfect 
gravity. 


142  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

The  old  man  was  going  to  make  some  cynical  reply ;  but 
he  looked  round  and  saw  they  were  alone :  his  whole  manner 
changed  at  once. 

"  Master  Austin,  my  dear,"  he  said  ;  "  I  see  you  and  she  on 
deck  last  night.  Is  it  all  as  we  should  wish  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  James,"  said  Austin. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  he.  "  Now  you  mind  an  old  rogue, 
and  you  keep  close  to  her.  It  would  be  a  good  thing  for  she 
(the  old  man  so  cordially  hated  Aunt  Maria  that  he  never 
named  her  if  he  could  help  it),  if  she  could  bully  Miss 
Eleanor  into  marrying  Captain  Hertford,  and  then  that  the 
pair  on  'em  should  have  the  bullying  and  bally-ragging  of 
nine  thousand  a  year.  That  would  be  a  good  thing,  hey  !  " 

"  It  will  never  happen,"  said  Austin. 

"  You  mind  it  don't,"  said  the  old  man,  and  walked  forward, 
leaving  Austin  musing. 

The  glass  was  dropping  very  fast,  and  it  was  clouding  rap 
idly  up  from  the  southwest.  Lunch-time  passed,  and  Mr. 
Elliot  was  still  on  shore ;  they  began  to  get  impatient.  They 
could  see  him  through  their  glasses,  walking  about  the  light 
house,  looking  into  everything,  directing  here,  consulting  there, 
as  if  time  were  not  of  the  slightest  value. 

"  By  Jove,  sir,"  said  the  sailing-master  to  Austin,  "  I  wish 
we  had  ten  miles  more  sea-room.  Boatswain,  run  up  second 
pennant  and  3474." 

It  was  done.  Mr.  Elliot  was  seen  to  notice  it  for  an  in 
stant,  and  then  turn  away.  He  put  up  a  cross  staff  in  the 
middle  of  the  lighthouse-keeper's  potato-garden,  and  then 
sent  a  preventive  man,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  to  the  top 
of  a  hill,  to  get  a  line  between  the  lighthouse  and  a  sunk 
rock. 

The  sailing-master  took  a  sharp  turn  on  the  deck,  and  mut 
tered  something.  "  Run  out  that  gun  and  fire  it." 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  143 

Mr.  Elliot  did  mind  the  gun.  He  came  down  to  the  beach 
with  provoking  deliberation,  and  at  last  got  into  the  boat; 
before  he  reached  the  ship,  two  sharp  squalls  had  passed  sing 
ing  through  the  rigging,  and  a  third,  fiercer  than  either  of  the 
others,  swept  over  her  as  he  scrambled  on  deck.  There  was 
scarce  time  to  cast  the  boat  off,  before  the  storm  was  upon 
them  in  all  its  fury.  They  were  relieved  by  seeing  the  boat 
cast  up  on  shore,  with  her  crew  safe  ;  then  they  had  to  think 
of  themselves.  The  blast  was  so  terrible  and  violent,  that  the 
yacht,  although  steaming  ahead  at  full  speed,  was  making  no 
way  at  all,  and  the  rocks  of  Benbecula  not  half  a  mile  to 
leeward. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  very  remiss,"  said  Mr.  Elliot,  as 
he  walked  away  aft,  and  the  sailing-master  followed  him. 

"  Dare  you  run  for  the  lee  of  Monach  ?  "  said  Mr.  Elliot. 

"  We  should  be  broadside  on  to  Grimness  in  ten  minutes, 
sir,"  said  the  sailing-master. 

"  Then  God  forgive  me ! "  said  Mr.  Elliot,  and  went  to  hid 
cabin. 

He  had  certainly  stayed  too  long.  Even  now,  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  they  were  steaming  for  bare  life, 
and  it  seemed  losing  ground ;  the  night  was  coming  on,  and 
the  gale  was  increasing. 

All  that  steam  and  iron  could  do,  backed  by  a  steady  Scotch 
head  to  manage  them,  would  be  done ;  but  the  storm  was  too 
strong  for  them,  and  the  rocks  were  close  to  leeward :  their 
danger  was  very  imminent.  Mr.  Elliot  and  the  sailing-master 
knew  it,  and  Austin  guessed  at  it. 

Eleanor,  seeing  Austin  look  so  calm,  was  not  frightened,  or, 
at  least,  did  not  show  it.  She  stayed  on  deck  with  him  through 
all  the  furious  turmoil.  They  were  wrapped  in  the  same 
plaid  ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  rush  and  boom  of  the  seas,  and 
the  scream  of  the  cordage,  each  could  hear  every  word  spoken 


144  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

by  the  other  as  plain  as  though  they  were  walking  together  in 
a  garden  on  a  summer  afternoon. 

At  last  Eleanor  went  down,  not  long  after  dark.  She 
looked  into  her  aunt's  cabin.  That  good  lady  was  sleeping 
quietly,  unconscious  of  all  danger ;  and  so  Eleanor  went  to 
her  own  cabin,  and  lay  down. 

She  had  looked  into  the  main  cabin,  and  seen  Mr.  Elliot 
busy  with  his  papers  and  charts.  She  was  quite  reassured, 
and  slept  peacefully.  But  Mr.  Elliot  was  not  busy  with  his 
papers :  far  from  it.  He  was  quite  enough  of  a  sailor  to 
know  their  extreme  danger.  When  Eleanor  passed  into  her 
cabin,  he  was  leaning  his  head  on  his  hands,  and  anxiously 
musing.  Presently  the  sailing-master  came  into  the  cabin 
and  spoke  to  him. 

"  She  is  actually  making  leeway  at  times,  sir,"  said  he. 
"As  the  sea  gets  up,  she  will  make  more.  The  danger  is 
very  extreme,  sir." 

"  And  no  anchorage  ?  "  said  Mr.  Elliot.  "  If  we  could  only 
bite  ground,  we  might,  by  steaming  at  anchor,  weather  it." 

"  We  are  in  blue  water,  sir,"  said  the  sailing-master.  "  If 
there  is  no  change,  it  will  be  all  over  in  an  hour." 

"  And  all  my  fault,"  said  Mr.  Elliot, 

"  Nonsense,  sir.     You  were  detained  ashore  by  duty." 

"  Well,  let  us  say  so,"  the  old  man  replied.  "  It  will  be  all 
over  in  an  hour  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  thereabouts,"  said  the  sailing-master. 

When  he  was  gone,  the  old  man  lay  down  his  head  and 
prayed.  He  prayed  for  his  son  Austin ;  that  such  a  noble 
young  life  should  not  be  cut  off  untimely,  through  his  own 
carelessness.  If  he  had  seen  a  little  further  into  the  future, 
perhaps  he  might  have  prayed  that  it  might  all  be  over  now, 
and  that  Austin  and  he  might  sleep  together  under  the  wild 
fretting  waves  of  the  Atlantic,  and  be  spared  the  evil  to  come. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  145 

The  brave  little  ship  was  leaping  madly,  and  creaking  in 
every  timber ;  and  underneath  him  where  he  sat  the  screw 
was  spinning  and  clanking,  and  buffeting  the  wild  waters ; 
sometimes  coming  half  out  of  water,  with  an  angry,  jerking 
hiss,  and  then  throbbing  bravely  and  diligently  at  its  work 
ten  feet  below  the  surface.  •  It  was  a  mad  fight  between  winds 
and  waves  on  the  one  hand,  and  iron  and  steam  on  the  other, 
and  he  and  all  dear  to  him  were  the  prize. 

The  noise  was  so  great  that  he  could  hear  no  one  approach 
him.  A  hand  was  laid  on  his  arm,  and  he  started  and  looked 
up.  Then  he  stood  up  altogether,  and  looked  with  astonish 
ment  at  the  figure  by  his  side. 

It  was  Aunt  Maria.  But  she  did  not  look  as  he  had  ever 
seen  her  look  before.  She  wore  the  dirty  flannel  dressing- 
gown  which  that  impudent  old  fellow  James  had  mentioned, 
but  on  her  head  was  a  brilliantly  gay  cap,  full  of  flowers,  and 
in  her  hand  she  clutched  an  ivory  fan,  which  she  held  upside- 
down.  But,  startling  as  her  dress  was,  it  was  her  face  that 
startled  Mr.  Elliot  most.  Her  thick,  bushy  eyebrows  almost 
concealed  her  deep-sunk,  small  eyes,  —  and  those  eyes  did  not 
appear  very  steady,  —  and  her  complexion,  usually  such  a 
deep  red,  was  now  a  dull,  sickly  yellow. 

Mr.  Elliot  had  been  in  many  lunatic  asylums  in  his  life,  but 
neither  he,  nor  any  other  man,  ever  went  into  one  yet  without 
seeing  a  middle-aged  lady  there,  who  was  uncommonly  like 
Aunt  Maria,  as  she  stood  before  him  this  night  in,  his  cabin. 

He  rose,  in  his  alarm,  and  looked  keenly,  at  her,  trying  to 
catch  her  eye.  Hers  would  not  meet  his,  but  she  broke 
silence  first,  in  a  hoarse,  unequal  voice. 

"  I  heard  every  word  that  your  sailing-master  said  to  you 
just  now.  I  know  that  in  an  hour  we  shall  all  be  —  all 
be  drowned." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Mr.  Elliot,  politely.  "  The  ship  is  in 
7  J 


146  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

danger  of  going  ashore,  certainly,  but  there  is  every  chance  for 
us,  Miss  Hilton." 

"  Nonsense ! "  said  she,  catching  his  eyes,  and  dropping  hers 
again  at  once.  "I  know  that  the  end  of  us  all  is  near.  I 
curse  the  day  when  you  deluded  me  into  this  voyage,  that  your 
scatter-brained  son  might  make  love  to  my  niece,  and  have  her 
money.  Do  you  know  what  you  have  done  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Elliot,  looking  steadily  at  her. 

"  I  will  whisper  to  you."  And  she  whispered  to  him,  and 
his  face  grew  a  little  graver  as  she  spoke. 

"  Now  what  do  you  say  ?  If  by  any  chance  we  were  to  be 
saved,  would  you  break  off  the  match  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Elliot.  "  In  the  first  place,  it  don't  affect 
the  property.  I  am  an  executor,  and  I  know  that." 

<k  I  thought  you  had  set  your  heart  on  your  son's  public 
career  ?  " 

"  So  I  have." 

"  It  will  be  a  noble  one  with  that  round  his  neck." 

"  He  and  I  may  have  our  own  opinion  about  that.  Why, 
if  you  believe  that  we  are  all  to  be  drowned  in  an  hour,  do  you 
tell  me  this  ?  " 

"  Because  I  hate  you,  —  because  I  always  hated  you !  " 

"  Always  ?  "  said  Mr.  Elliot. 

"  No,"  she  said,  fiercely,  "  I  loved  you  once.  How  dare  you 
remind  "me  of  it?  I  showed  it,  and  that  was  my  fault.  I  al 
ways  hated  you,  and  Jenkinson,  since  that  day  when  I  heard 
you  laughing  at  me.  How  dare  you !  I  came  to  tell  you  this 
because  I  believe  that  you  have  not  an  hour  to  live,  and  that 
I  thought  it  would  annoy  you." 

"  May  God  forgive  you  as  I  do,  Maria,"  said  the  old  man. 

She  turned  to  go. 

"  Won't  you  say  '  good  by,'  Maria,  for  old  times'  sake  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Elliot. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  147 

Aunt  Maria  would  not  go  so  far  as  that,  but  she  came  half 
way.  She  burst  into  a  wild  wail ;  she  broke  her  fan  into  a 
hundred  pieces,  said  that  she  was  a  miserable,  ugly,  mad  old 
woman,  who  had  never  had  justice  done  her  by  those  bhe  had 
loved,  and  so  went  weeping  and  wringing  her  hands,  back  to 
her  cabin. 

"  Poor  thing  !  "  said  good  old  Mr.  Elliot.  "  I  wish  I  could 
get  her  out  of  Hertford's  clutches.  Small  chance  of  that !  I 
must  tell  Austin  all  this  some  day,  that  is  clear,  but  not  yet. 
His  love  is  a  little  too  young  to  stand  it  yet ;  I  shall  wait  till 
she  has  become  a  necessity  to  him.  By  the  by,  I  forgot  we 
are  all  going  to  the  bottom ;  we  shall  be  ashore  on  Benbecula 
in  half  an  hour." 

But  when  Mr.  Elliot  said  this,  it  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock 
at  night,  and  the  yacht,  so  far  from  tailing  on  to  the  coast  of 
Benbecula,  was  driving  (that  is  supposing  her  to  go  clear  of  the 
stage  of  Broad-harran,  Lion's-head,  and  Eagle-island,  which, 
as  every  school-boy  knows,  are  the  farthest  projections  of  the 
county  Mayo,  in  Ireland,  to  the  west),  —  was  driving,  I  say, 
straight  towards  that  part  of  the  Atlantic  where  I  am  inclined 
to  place  the  still  undiscovered  island  of  St.  Borondon,  in  spite 
of  the  impudent  lies  of  Marco  Verde  before  the  worthy  Pedro 
Ortez  de  Funez,  inquisitor  of  the  Grand  Canary,  who  ought 
to  have  fried  him  in  a  frying-pan  for  insulting  the  Holy  Office 
with  his  cocks  and  bulls.  And  how  it  came  that  the  good 
Pelican  had  turned  her  tail  S.W.  by  S.,  I  will  tell  you  in  a 
few  words,  before  we  bid  her  good-by  forever. 

Austin,  finding  the  deck  untenable  for  the  driving  spray, 
bethought  him  of  the  engine-room,  and  he  went  down  there. 
Old  Murray,  the  engineer,  was  standing  steadfast  before  his 
gleaming  cranks  and  leaping  pistons ;  and  he  saw  that  the 
engine  was  being  worked  at  a  speed  he  had  never  seen  be 
fore. 


148  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

The  engineer  shook  his  head  without  turning  round.  "  If 
aught  gives.  Master  Austin  !  " 

"  Is  there  any  danger  ?  " 

"  She  '11  just  hold  her  own  if  naught  gives." 

"  I  suspect  our  lives  are  in  good  hands,  old  friend,"  said 
Austin,  "  and  I  know  no  one  to  whom  I  would  sooner  trust 
mine." 

The  old  man  looked  lovingly  on  Austin,  and  Austin  stood 
beside  him  some  time.  Suddenly  the  voice  of  the  master  was 
heard  inquiring  for  Mr.  Austin. 

Some  one  said  he  was  in  the  engine-room. 

"  Tell  him  to  come  quick.  Say  I  have  something  to  show 
him." 

Austin  dashed  out  of  the  engine-room,  and  up  the  only  open 
companion-ladder.  As  he  got  on  deck,  the  press  of  wind  nearly 
suffocated  him,  but  the  ship  was  steady.  There  was  very  little 
sea,  the  wind  had  beaten  it  down.  Above,  all  was  black  as  ink, 
but  the  sea  around  them  was  a  wild  mist  of  white  foam.  The 
master  shouted  in  his  ear,  — 

"  Look  ahead  and  aloft ! " 

He  did  so.  A  head  of  the  ship's  bows,  high  aloft,  there 
was  a  brighter  patch  in  the  inky  sky,  a  patch  of  blue,  in  which 
were  three  or  four  stars,  which  seemed  to  reel,  and  dip,  and 
rise  again,  as  he  staggered  on  the  slippery  deck ;  and  across 
this  patch,  wreaths  and  wisps  of  storm-cloud  were  flying  quick 
as  lightning ;  but,  awful  as  it  seemed  to  Austin,  these  wreaths 
of  cloud  were  not  going  with  the  wind,  but  from  right  to  left, 
nearly  dead  against  it. 

"  Good  Lord  !  "  he  said,  "  why  the  clouds  are  flying  against 
the  wind!" 

"  It  is  a  new  trick  they  have  got  then,"  said  the  master ; 
"  wait  and  watch,  Master  Austin,  you  won't  see  the  like  again 
out  of  the  China  seas.  This  is  what  /  call  a  typhoon.  I 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  149 

reckon  they  have  another  name  for  it  hereabouts.  Watch 
what  happens,  sir." 

The  patch  of  blue  sky  approached  them,  though  not  very 
fast,  and  as  it  approached  them,  grew  larger.  At  last  it  was 
over  head,  and  as  they  became  aware  of  it,  they  became  aware 
of  these  things  also.  That  it  was  a  great  funnel  into  the  sky, 
through  a  circular  whirlwind  of  storm-cloud;  and  that  the 
moment  they  were  under  it,  the  ship  was  becalmed  amidst  a 
heavy  sea,  which  slopped  about,  here  and  there,  in  every  direc 
tion. 

They  were  actually  becalmed,  while  all  around  they  could 
hear  the  tempest  howling  and  raving.  The  ship  began  to 
make  splendid  headway  now,  with  her  head  S.  W. 

But  in  twenty  minutes,  the  engines  were  ordered  to  go  at 
half  speed,  and  her  head  was  put  N.  E.  straight  for  the  island 
which  they  had  dreaded.  Ten  minutes  after,  the  storm  struck 
them  from  that  very  quarter,  with  increased  fury,  and  the 
good  Pelican  saved,  with  her  engines  going  quarter  speed, 
was  drifting  slowly  and  safely  out  into  the  Atlantic. 

And  in  the  morning,  when  the  storm  was  past,  she  was 
leaping  and  bounding  southward,  over  the  bright  blue  waves, 
with  a  thousand  happy  sea-birds  skimming,  and  diving  around 
her.  And  Austin  and  Eleanor  were  on  deck  together,  already 
forgetful  of  the  hideous  night  which  had  passed. 

And  now  we  must  bid  good-by  to  the  Pelican,  and  to 
Murray,  the  engineer,  and  the  sailing-master,  for  our  way  lies 
in  a  different  direction.  Austin  was  about  to  part  from  these 
friends  of  his  youth,  these  friends  who  had  pampered  and 
petted  him,  and  to  start  in  the  world  for  himself.  With  what 
success,  we  shall  see. 

A  month  after  his  return  to  London  he  was  on  his  way  to 
make  the  tour  of  the  East,  with  Lord  Charles  Barty.  At 
Alexandria  he  picked  up  a  letter,  which  told  him  that  his 


150  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

father  was  dangerously  ill.  He  turned  homeward,  and  his 
faithful  friend  came  with  him.  At  Malta  he  heard  that  his 
noble  old  father  was  dead.  His  burst  of  grief  was  wild  and 
childlike,  but  his  good  friend,  Lord  Charles  Barty,  stayed  him 
and  comforted  him,  and  took  him  home  gently  and  kindly,  and 
Austin  rewarded  him  for  it,  one  fine  morning,  as  we  shall  see. 
lie  got  home  only  to  find  the  funeral  ^sometime  over,  and  to 
take  possession  of  his  property. 

And  now  we  must  skip  a  few  months,  and  pick  up  our 
story  again  at  the  end  of  them.     These  last  events  took  place 
in   the   spring  of  1845.     We  shall  take  it  up  again  in  the, 
beginning  of  1846. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE  year  1846  had  begun,  Parliament  had  met,  and  the 
murder  was  out.  Everybody  had  been  perfectly  certain  of  it, 
ever  since  Lord  Stanley's  refusal  to  join  the  new  ministry ; 
but  everybody  now  said,  that  they  would  n't  have  believed  it. 
After  Sir  Robert  had  got  up,  immediately  after  the  seconding 
of  'the  address,  and,  in  less  than  twenty  minutes,  announced 
that  the  failure  of  the  potatoes  had  necessitated  his  resigna 
tion,  and  that  his  ideas  on  the  subject  of  protection  had  under 
gone  a  considerable  change,  some  people,  by  far  the  larger 
number,  were  struck  with  profound  admiration,  some  were 
violently  angry,  some  were  intensely  amused,  and  all  very 
much  excited. 

A  new  political  star  had  arisen,  though  as  yet  it  was  very 
near  the  horizon,  and  its  orbit  was  unascertained.  Some  time 
before  Parliament  met,  the  Daily  Intelligencer,  a  paper  which 
prides  itself  on  the  earliness  of  its  political  intelligence,  an- 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  151 

nounced  that  "  they  were  informed-"  that  the  address  would 
be  moved,  in  the  Commons,  by  the  newly  elected  member 
for  Granitebridge.  But  Sir  Robert  Peel  knew  better  than, 
that.  The  address  was,  on  that  occasion,  committed  to  the 
older  and  wiser  head  of  Lord  Francis  Egerton. 

The  newly  elected  member  for  Granitebridge  was  no  other 
a  person  than  Lord  Charles  Barty.  A  vacancy  for  that  bor 
ough  having  occurred  by  the  death  of  old  Sir  Pitchcroft  Cock- 
pole,  the  borough  had  been  contested  by  Lord  Charles  and 
Captain  Blockstrop.  The  gallant  Captain  was  fearfully  beaten, 
to  his  own  great  surprise. 

The  Captain  had  argued  in  this  way.  That  Lord  Charles, 
though  coming  of  a  Whig  house,  must,  being  a  duke's  son,  be 
at  heart  a  Tory.  That  was  .Captain  Blockstrop's  unalterable 
opinion.  So  he  issued  a  rather  liberal  address,  as  he  thought, 
expecting  to  be  opposed  by  the  very  faintest  and  mildest  form 
of  gentle  Whiggery.  When  he  read  Lord  Charles  Barty's 
address,  Austin  says  that  his  hair  stood  on  end,  and  emitted 
electrical  brushes,  and  his  whiskers  crackled  like  a  cat's 
back. 

Lord  Charles's  address  was  the  most  atrocious  and  revolu 
tionary  document  which  had  appeared  for  many  years.  The 
Captain  had  said  "  that,  should  it  appear  that  the  supply  of 
food  was  likely  to  be  seriously  diminished  by  the  failure  of  the 
potato  crop,  he  for  one  would  listen  patiently  to  any  arguments 
which  might  be  adduced  in  favor  of  a  temporary  (mark  him, 
a  temporary)  suspension  of  the  duties,"  for  many  of  the  popu 
lation  of  Granitebridge  were  bucolic  and  Protectionists.  Lord 
Charles  Barty  had  disposed  of  this  question,  and  conciliated 
the  Protectionists  by  saying  "  that  the  Corn  Laws  were  a 
festering  ulcer  on  the  body  politic,  and  that  every  hour  they 
were  permitted  to  remain  was  another  hour  of  humiliation  and 
disgrace  to  the  country."  The  Captain  thought  that,  at  some 


152  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

future  time,  a  slight  enlargement  and  redistribution  of  the 
suffrage  might  possibly  be  advisable.  Lord  Charles  Barty 
proposed  manhood  suffrage  arid  the  ballot,  to  be  taken  im 
mediately,  as  his  specific  for  the  potato-rot,  and  every  other 
disease.  The  Captain,  who  seemed  really  to  have  taken  some 
pains  to  inform  himself  of  facts,  thought  that,  in  case  of  a 
suspension  or  abolition  of  the  corn  duties,  some  relief  should 
be  granted  to  the  agricultural  interest,  say  in  a  consolidation 
of  highway  districts,  or  in  an  alteration  in  the  law  of  settle 
ment.  But  Lord  Charles  either  knew  nothing  (which  is  most 
probable)  or  cared  nothing  about  highway  rates,  or  the  return 
of  worn-out  paupers  from  rich  manufacturing  towns  to  impov 
erished  rural  districts.  He  finished  his  address  by  telling  the 
Protectionist  constituency  of  Granitebridge  that,  if  the  agri 
cultural  interest  could  not  take  care  of  itself,  it  was  no  one 
else's  business  to  take  care  of  them. 

But  he  was  elected  by  258  against  164,  for  these  reasons. 

In  the  first  place,  the  good  and  gallant  Captain  had  made  a 
most  awful  and  Jack-a-shore  sort  of  blunder.  His  strong 
point,  the  point  on  which  he  dwelt  most,  was  that  of  Admi 
ralty  reform.  Now  it  so  happens,  that  Granitebridge  is  not 
more  (as  the  crow  flies)  than  one  hundred  miles  from  the 
great  arsenal  of  Plymouth  ;  and  all  the  trim  stone  villas  about 
the  town  have  been  built  out  of  the  proceeds  of  filchings  of 
copper  and  nails  and  rope's  ends  from  the  dockyard  there. 
The  inhabitants  of  those  cottages  and  villas  had  each  of  them, 
at  that  very  time,  three  or  four  relations  down  in  Plymouth, 
in  the  dockyards  there,  filching  away  their  hardest,  at  the 
copper  and  rope's  ends,  that  they  also  might  retire,  and  build 
villas  like  their  relations.  Now,  you  know,  this  was  not 
the  sort  of  constituency  to  which  to  broach  Admiralty  reform. 
The  Captain  argued  that,  being  so  near  Plymouth,  they  must 
be  familiar  with,  and  interested  in,  dockyard  mismanagement. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  153 

This  was  eminently  true,  but  not  in  the   sense  the  Captain 
meant. 

Another  point  in  Lord  Charles  Barty's  favor  was,  that  his 
name  was  Barty.  The  mighty  sheets  of  deep  red  corn-land, 
which  stretched  west  from  the  town,  lying  in  pleasant  slopes 
towards  the  south,  were  all  his  father's,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach.  The  town  itself,  and  the  land  about  it,  belonged  to  Sir 
Pitchcroft  Cockpole.  They  always  had  a  Cockpole  or  a 
Barty  for  one  of  their  members.  They  knew  them,  and  could 
trust  them  :  and  these  Bartys  too ;  they  were  all  wild  young 
hawks  at  first  (except  the  blind  Lord  Edward),  but  they  al 
ways  turned  out  steady,  devoted,  useful  public  servants  in  the 
end.  "  I  'm  a  Protectionist,"  said  one  old  farmer  on  the  hust 
ings,  "  but  I  'd  sooner  have  Lord  Charles  and  Free-trade,  than 
e'er  a  one  else  with  Protection.  Though  he  is  a  owdacious 
young  Turk,  surety  —  drat  'un  ! " 

And  a  third  reason  for  Lord  Charles's  return  is  this  :  when 
he  and  his  friend  Mr.  Elliot  came  down  canvassing,  there  was 
no  resisting  them.  They  were  such  a  handsome,  noble,  merry 
pair  of  fellows,  that  they  took  the  warm  Devon  hearts  by  storm. 
Lord  Charles  went  about  uttering  the  most  atrocious  revolu 
tionary  sentiments,  in  an  airy,  agreeable  sort  of  way,  and  Aus 
tin  went  with  him  and  laughed  at  him. 

One  great  event  of  the  campaign  was  the  attack  on  old  Mr. 
Pilgrim,  the  Quaker,  in  the  upper  Croft.  It  will  illustrate 
their  very  free  and  easy  sort  of  tactics. 

On  the  very  first  day  of  their  arrival,  as  Charles  Barty, 
Austin,  and  the  attorney  were  sitting  together  after  dinner, 
Brentmore  pointed  him  out  as  an  important  and  influential 
man,  —  a  man  who,  if  the  Captain  ran  them  close,  might  make 
or  mar  the  whole  business. 

"  You  must  go  to  him  to-morrow  morning,  my  Lord." 

"  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  do.     I  shall  say  something  terrible, 
7* 


154  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

and  set  him  against  me.  I  cannot  converse  with  a  quaker,  — 
I  never  tried." 

-"  You  will  have  to  try,"  said  the  attorney. 

"  Would  n't  it  be  better  fun,"  said  Lord  Charles,  "seeing  he 
is  such  an  influential  man,  for  me  to  send  a  letter  to  him  say 
ing  that  I  consider  him  a  broad-brimmed  old  idiot,  and  that 
I  '11  tweak  his  stupid  nose  for  twopence.  There  would  be 
some  fun  in  winning  the  election  after  that." 

"  There  would,  indeed,  my  Lord.  You  must  go  to  him  to 
morrow.  When  the  Tory  man  came  down,  before  the  breath 
was  out  of  Sir  Pitchcroft's  body,  to  see  how  the  land  lay,  he 
just  called  on  Mr.  Pilgrim,  and  from  what  he  heard  there, 
went  away  again." 

"  Who  was  the  gentleman,  —  who  was  the  base  Tory  who 
dared  to  show  his  face  at  Granitebridge  ?  " 

"  A  certain  Captain  Hertford,"  said  the  attorney. 

Lord  Charles  and  Austin  became  attentive. 

"  He  has  done  a  good  deal  of  dirty  electioneering  work  in 
his  time,  and  now  he  is  looking  out  for  a  seat  for  himself.  lie 
is  engaged  to  be  married  to  Miss  Hilton,  a  great  heiress,  I 
believe." 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  tell  him,  the  next  time  you  see 
him,"  said  Austin,  "  that  he  is  a  confounded  liar,  and  that  I 
told  you  to  say  so." 

"  No,  Mr.  Elliot.  A  man  of  my  figure,  sir,  as  'broad  as  he 
is  long,  and  only  ten  stone  after  all,  can't  do  it,  sir.  It  would 
be  no  use  doing  it,  and  putting  it  in  the  bill.  No  one  is  rich 
enough  to  pay  me  for  the  consequences  of  telling  that  gallant 
Captain  that  he  is  a  confounded  liar.  Suppose,  sir,  that  you 
were  to  tell  him  so,  and  to  say  that  /told  you." 

"  You  mark  my  words,  I  will,"  said  Austin,  —  "  the  abom 
inable  villain ! " 

"I  understand,"  said  the  attorney,  "that  the  young  lady 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  155 

is  quite  under  the  influence  of  her  aunt,  and  —  by  the  by, 
we  must  look  over  the  lists,  gentlemen,"  he  added,  quickly, 
for  Lord  Charles,  after  three  or  four  attempts,  had  managed 
to  give  him  a  violent  "drive"  on  the  shins  under  the  table. 

Just  outside  the  town  at  Granitebridge,  there  is  a  long 
lime  avenue  by  the  river  side.  Here,  at  ten  o'clock  that 
night,  Lord  Charles  Barty  and  Austin  walked  up  and  down, 
smoking  their  cigars. 

The  winter's  moon  was  overhead  above  the  leafless  trees ; 
and  far  up  to  the  north,  in  the  moor,  they  could  hear  the 
river,  here  so  calm,  chafing  among  his  granite  boulders. 

"Austin,  old  fellow,"  said  Lord  Charles,  "when  are  you 
going  to  get  married  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  knew,"  said  Austin. 

"  There  is  no  cloud  between  you  and  Eleanor,  is  there  ?  " 
said  he. 

"  Not  one  vestige,"  said  Austin.  "  There  was  a  time, 
Charles,  when  I  was  not  in  love  with  that  woman ;  but  there 
never  was  a  time  when  I  did  not  love  her." 

"  And  your  love  for  her  grows  stronger  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Day  by  day,  and  hour  by  hour,"  said  Austin.  "  But  she, 
—  does  she  love  me  as*  I  love  her  ?  " 

"Ten  thousand  times  better,  Austin.  I  will  go  bail  for 
that." 

"Theh  why  does  she  put  me  off?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  Because,  I  take  it,  she  is  in  the  hands 
of  her  aunt.  You  should  make  a  bold  push  of  some  kind. 
Look  at  her  position,  my  dear  old  friend, —just  look  at  her 
position.  God  help  her  if  anything  happens  to  you  !  " 

"  Her  position  is  not  good,  certainly,"  said  Austin,  pen 
sively. 

"  It  is  simply  horrible  !  Here  is  a  young  lady  —  a  lady, 
mind  —  with  aii  enormous  fortune,  very  handsome,  in  her 


156  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

way ;  clever  and  charming  beyond  conception,  without  a  soul 
to  speak  to  in  her  own  rank  in  life.  My  blind  brother,  and 
you  and  I,  are  the  only  friends  she  has  in  the  world.  She  is 
utterly  debarred  from  all  society. 

"  You  see,"  said  Austin,  "  her  father  did  some  queer  things 
in  his  time,  and  so  no  one  takes  her  up." 

"  The  world  is  very  cruel,  Austin,  but  it  is  not  so  cruel  as 
all  that.  The  reason  that  no  one  goes  near  her  is,  that  no  one 
will  have  anything  to  do  with  her  aunt." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  it,"  said  Austin ;  "  and  she  is  getting 
worse  and  worse." 

"  Does  she  drink  ?  "  said  Lord  Charles. 

"  I  fancy  so.     She  is  always  terribly  excited." 

"  Did  you  hear  of  her  kicking  up  a  row  in  church,  last 
Sunday  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Austin.     «  Was  Eleanor  with  her  ?  " 

"  O  no ;  she  and  Edward  were  philandering  at  St.  Paul's, 
bless  the  two  sweet  Puseyites.  Austin,  why  are  you  not 
jealous  of  Edward  ?  " 

"  And  thereby  deprive  Eleanor  of  the  only  happy  hours  of 
her  life.  Why,  if  it  were  not  for  your  brother,-  and  his  sitting 
to  play  her  piano,  and  his  taking  her  about  to  the  churches 
and  cathedrals  on  a  week-day,  she  'd  go  mad.  Jealous  of 
your  brother !  I  watched  them  one  day  last  week,  creeping 
in  under  the  shadow  of  the  abbey  wall.  She  was  leading 
him,  for  there  was  some  anthem  to  be  sung,  which  they  had 
heard  of,  and  had  gone  posting  off  across  the  park  to  hear. 
It  was  Advent  time,  you  know ;  and  there  are  fine  anthems 
sung  then  about  Christ's  coming,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  And 
I  followed  them  in,  and,  when  the  organ  had  done  snarling  and 
booming,  and  the  voices  began,  I  watched  them,  and  there 
they  sat,  with  their  hands  folded  before  them,  like  two  stone 
angels.  Your  brother  has  a  beautiful  face  of  his  own,  blind 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  157 

as  he  is.  Somewhat  too  much  of  this.  One  is  talking  non 
sense,  or  near  it.  One  always  does,  if  one  walks  up  and 
down  at  midnight,  with  -the  friend  of  one's  heart." 

"  May  the  deuce  have  a  man  who  don't,"  said  Lord  Charles. 
"  That  brother  of  mine  has  a  noble  face." 

"  Was  Lord  Edward  always  blind  ?  " 

"  Always.     He  began  to  sing  when  he  was  five  years  old." 

"  He  never  sings  now." 

"  No,  he  lost  his  voice  at  fourteen.  Before  that,  he  used  to 
go  wandering  about  the  house,  singing  some  ballad,  or  hymn, 
which  had  taken  his  fancy,  to  some  tune  of  his  own  choosing, 
in  a  strange,  shivering,  silvery  voice.  Once,  I  remember 
George  and  I  were  in  the  school-room,  kickipg  up  a  row  with 
our  sisters,  and  plaguing  Miss  Myrtle;  and  we  heard  him 
come  singing  along  the  gallery,  and  we  all  grew  silent  and 
listened.  And  we  heard  him  feel  his  way  to  the  door,  singing 
all  the  time.  And  he  was  singing  *  Lord  Ullin's  Daughter.' 
And  he  threw  the  door  open,  while  we  all  sat  silent ;  and  you 
never  saw  a  stranger  sight.  He  thought  no  one  was  there 
(for  we  were  all  very  silent),  and  went  on  singing ;  and  his 
blind  face  was  flushed  with  passion  :  — 

'  And  still,  as  wilder  grew  the  storm, 

And  as  the  night  grew  drearer, 
Adown  the  glen  rode  armed  men, 
Their  footsteps  sounded  nearer.'  " 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  fine  fellow.  Let  us,  however,  return  to  what 
we  were  talking  about." 

"  That  includes  a  great  many  things,"  said  Austin.  "  For 
instance  :  about  Aunt  Maria  making  a  fracas  in  church." 

"  O,  ay,  she  did.  My  people  were  at  St.  Peter's,  and  she 
came  in,  and  the  pew-opener  had  put  some  one  in  her  pew. 
And  she  kicked  up  a  row,  by  Jove,  and  spoke  out  loud.  She 
was  either  mad  or  drunk." 


158  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  Was  there  any  disturbance  ?  " 

"  Why,  no.  She  recovered  herself  when  every  one  looked 
round.  But  no  one  minded  their  prayers  much.  Well,  I 
don't  want  to  distress  you,  old  fellow,  but  you  had  better  know 
the  truth.  It  was  a  very  ugly  business.  She  utterly  lost 
command  of  herself.  People  were  talking  of  it  in  London, 
and  said  she  was  drunk." 

"  What  the  deuce  am  I  to  do  ?  "  said  Austin,  impatienly. 

"  Make  Eleanor  appoint  a  day  for  marrying  you.  Don't  be 
put  off  any  longer." 

"  There 's  where  it  is,"  said  Austin.  "  She  has  appointed  a 
day.  She  has  appointed  a  day  in  next  April  twelvemonths." 

"  Next  April  .twelvemonths  ?  " 

"  Ay,"  said  Austin,  "  and  stuck  to  it." 

"  That  looks  like  reading  the  bill  this  day  six  months,"  said 
Lord  Charles. 

"  No,"  said  Austin,  "  she  don't  mean  that.  She  is  in  her 
aunt's  hands." 

"  She  must  be  very  weak,"  said  Lord  Charles. 

"  No  !  "  said  Austin.  "  She  loves  me,  as  you  know.  There 
is  some  scandal  in  the  house,  most  likely  about  her  brother, 
who  is  dead,  who  robbed  you  at  Eton.  Aunt  Maria  knows 
something,  and  whips  her  in.  What  shall  I  do  with  that 
black-hearted  villain,  Hertford  ?  " 

"  Leave  him  alone.  Give  him  rope  enough  to  hang  him 
self  withal.  If  she  allows  her  aunt  to  bully  her  into  marrying 
him,  you  are  well  rid  of  her.  By  giving  him  rope,  you  may 
bowl  out  Aunt  Maria." 

"  You  are  right.  Meanwhile,  your  brother  Edward  is  there 
continually ;  and  she,  with  her  true  toad-eating  instinct,  allows 
him  to  come  unchallenged,  when  my  appearance  would  only 
make  a  scene  for  poor  Eleanor,  after  I  was  gone.  Lord  Ed 
ward  is  stone-blind,  but  not,  as  I  have  heard,  deaf.  On  some 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  159 

occasions,  Aunt  Maria  has  behaved  as  though  she  considered 
that  the  loss  of  one  sense  involved  the  loss  of  all.  I  say, 
Barty ! " 

"Well,  old  fellow." 

"About  Hertford.  I  know  that  his  scheme  is  to  marry 
Eleanor  if  he  can.  The  end  will  be,  that  he  will  try  to  get  rid 
of  me  by  forcing  me  to  go  out  with  him." 

"  Damn  duelling  !  "  said  Lord  Charles,  suddenly. 

"  So  say  I,"  said  Austin  ;  "  but  that  is  his  game." 

Lord  Charles  chucked  his  cigar  into  the  road,  and  walked 
silent  for  a  few  minutes ;  at  the  end  he  said,  — 

"  Dear  old  fellow  !  will  you  pay  attention  to  me  ?  That  is 
his  game  ;  I  know  it,  Edward  knows  it.  He  will,  in  case  of 
his  finding  himself  outwitted,  do  that  ;*he  is  a  dead  shot,  he 
will  force  you  out  and  kill  you,  if  it  becomes  worth  his  while, 
—  you  must  be  very  careful  and  gentle  with  him." 

"  I  have  been,  Charles,"  said  Austin.  "  I  know  what  you 
say  is  true,  and  I  have  been  very  careful." 

"  Ay,  but  it  has  not  been  worth  his  while  yet.  There  is  a 
strong  talk  about  enforcing  the  law  against  duelling.  He 
knows  that.  It  will  be  his  last  resource.  If  he  could  get  her 
and  her  aunt  safe  abroad,  he  would  shoot  you  to-morrow." 

The  interview  with  Mr.  Pilgrim,  the  Quaker,  was  eminently 
successful.  It  took  place  next  morning  at  eleven,  in  this 
wise :  — 

Lord  Charles  was  perfectly  snapping  to  Austin  as  they 
walked  towards  the  house  ;  and  Austin  laughed  at  his  woe 
begone  look,  till  he  assaulted  him  in  a  by-place  where  no  one 
was  looking.  When  they  got  to  the  Quaker's  house  they  Were 
shown  into  a  cool  parlor,  to  await  the  great  man.  Austin  took 
down  books  from  the  shelves,  poked  the  fire,  and  dropped  the 
poker,  made  jokes,  laughed  loudly  at  them,  and  generally  mis 
behaved  himself.  At  last  he  came  round  to  the  cellaret,  and 


ICO  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

seeing  it  was  unlocked,  prompted  by  a  noble  curiosity,  he 
raised  the  lid.  At  this  moment  a  heavy  footfall  was  heard 
outside  the  door,  and  Austin  dropped  the  lid  with  a  terrible 
slam,  just  as  the  quaker  entered  the  room. 

He  was  a  noble-looking  old  man,  and  he  went  straight  up 
to  Austin,  with  a  sweet  smile  — 

"  Lord  Charles  Barty,  I  believe,"  said  he. 

Austin,  as  red  as  fire,  pointed  to  the  real  man ;  and  the 
candidate,  looking  as  red  as  Austin,  said,  — • 

"•  I  am  Lord  Charles  Barty,  Mr.  Pilgrim." 

"  And  this  gentleman,"  said  the  Quaker,  sweetly,  "  who  has 
done  me  the  honor  to  look  into  my  poor  cellaret  ?  v 

"  That 's  Mr.  Austin  Elliot,"  said  Lord  Charles,  "  and  con 
found  him,  he  is  always  up  to  some  of  his  fool's  tricks  in  the 
wrong  place.  But  he  is  mad,  you  know,  —  as  mad  as  a  hatter. 
"No  one  can  manage  him  but  me.  I  would  n't  have  allowed 
him  to  take  anything  ;  I  don't  think  he  meant  to.  He  has  a 
monomania  for  looking  into  people's  cellarets.  All  his  family 
had.  His  —  his  —  his  grandmother  died  of  it ;  and  by  Jove, 
sir,  it 's  hurrying  him  to  his  grave  ! " 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Mr.  Pilgrim,  with  his  mouth  twitching  at 
the  corners. 

"0  yes,"  said  Lord  Charles;  "but  that  don't  matter.  I 
say,  Mr.  Pilgrim,  I  wish  you  'd  vote  for  me,  and  get  the  other 
people  you  can  manage,  to  vote  for  me.  I  assure  you  that  I 
will  make  a  good,  diligent  member.  All  I  care  for  is  to  get 
into  the  House  and  find  my  place  in  the  world.  It  may  seem 
a  conceited  thing  to  say,  but  I  think  I  shall  make  you  a  better 
member  than  Captain  Blockstrop,  though  he  is  a  gentleman, 
and  a  good  fellow.  I  was  going  to  make  you  a  speech,  but 
that  fellow  Elliot  has  put  it  out  of  my  head.  Perhaps  it  is  all 
for  the  best.  If  I  remember  right,  there  was  a  lie  or  two  in 
the  speech  I  was  going  to  make  you.  Now  I  have  blurted 
out  the  whole  truth." 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  161 

The  Quaker  looked  on  him  with  a  smile. 

"  I  have  two  conditions,  my  Lord." 

Lord  Charles  recovered  himself,  and  looked  keenly  at  him. 

"Let  me  hear  them,"  he  said,  "just  to  see  if  they  tally 
with  my  own  foregone  conclusions.  But  mind,  I  don't  change 
one  iota  of  my  programme,  at  your  or  any  other  man's  bid 
ding." 

"There  spoke  a  real  obstinate  Barty,"  said  the  Quaker. 
"  My  conditions  are  these,  —  You  are  pledged  to  sweep  the 
corn-laws  into  the  dust-bin  of  the  past  once  and  forever.  Do 
I  understand  that  ?  " 

"  You  may  certainly  understand  that." 

"  And  you  and  Mr.  Elliot  are  pledged  to  dine  with  me  the 
day  after  to-morrow,  and  see  what  is  in  the  cellaret  ?  " 

"  I  am  pledged  to  that  also." 

"  Then  all  shall  go  well.  My  Lord,  I  know  you  and  your 
worth,  and  I  know  Mr.  Elliot  and  his  worth  also,  though  he 
has  peeped  into  my  cellaret.  I  wish  you  a  good  morning,  my 
Lord.  I  have  done  one  good  service  for  you  already.  I  sent 
that  —  that  —  military  officer,  Will  Hertford,  out  of  the  bor 
ough  pretty  quick.  There  is  a  great  advantage  in  lending 
money  at  times  ;  you  can  get  rid  of  a  man.  My  old  acquaint 
ance  George  Hilton  used  to  say  that.  Ah !  poor  fellow. 
Sad  for  him  to  die  and  leave  his  poor  little  girl  all  alone  in 
this  wicked  world.  Good  morning ! " 

So  Barty  was  returned  by  a  noble  majority,  and  Blockstrop 
once  more  went  down  into  the  sea  in  his  ship,  and  put  forth 
into  the  deep,  taking  his  naval  reforms  with  him ;  and  so  the 
Admiralty  was  left  in  peace. 


1G2  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

ELEANOR  lived  at  the  house  her  father  had  occupied  for 
many  years,  in  Wilton  Crescent.  It  was  not  a  large  house, 
and  her  household  was  small.  She  saw  actually  no  society. 
Sometimes  the  monotony  of  her  life  was  broken  by  the  visit 
of  an  old  schoolmate,  but  they  never  stayed  long,  nor  did  she 
press  them.  Hers  was  not  a  house  for  bright  young  girls  to 
stay  in.  She  felt  it.  She  knew  it.  There  was  something  so 
indefinably  coarse,  something  so  beyond  and  beside  all  gentle, 
domestic  love,  in  her  aunt,  that  she  never  pressed  those  girls 
to  stay,  and  never  of  her  own  will  invited  them. 

She  was  a  strange  little  being.  She  had  to  dree  her  weary 
weird,  and  she  did  so,  with  a  depth  of  love,  courage,  self-sac 
rifice,  and  shrewdness,  which  you  will  appreciate  when  you 
know  all.  The  fairy  which  had  given  her  such  boundless 
wealth  had  given  her  counterbalancing  gifts  whreh  made  that 
wealth  worse  than  worthless.  She  would  gladly  have  given  it 
all  away,  on  certain  conditions. 

There  was  one  reason  why  she  clung  to  this  wealth. 
There  was  one  reason  why  she  still  rejoiced  that,  disgrace 
her  as  they  might,  that  wealth  was  still  her  own.  It  would 
be  Austin's.  If  he  would  only  wait,  and  trust  her  through 
everything,  it  would  all  be  his.  If  he  would  only  wait,  and 
trust  her. 

She  was  sitting  at  her  piano.  She  was  alone  in  her  draw 
ing-room,  and  the  light  of  the  level  winter's  sun  was  on  her 
face.  If  there  was,  at  ordinary  times,  a  fault  in  that  face,  it 
was,  that  the  under  lip  and  chin  were  somewhat  too  short,  and 
the  mouth  rather  too  closely  set.  That  fault,  if  it  were  a 
fault,  was  not  perceptible  just  now  ,-  for  she  was  leaning  over 
the  keys,  with  her  fingers  upon  them,  studying  the  score  of 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  163 

the  music  before  her.  Every  now  and  then  she  would  try  it, 
and,  each  time  she  did  so,  the  music  grew  towards  perfection, 
until  at  last  it  rolled  away  triumphant  and  majestic.  It  was 
an  old  Huguenot  hymn-tune,  which  she  had  found  in  her  dead 
mother's  portfolio. 

The  door  opened.  Her  mouth  grew  close-set  again  in  an 
instant.  She  turned  round,  and  confronted  her  aunt. 

Aunt  Maria  looked  very  flushed  and  odd.  Eleanor  said  to 
herself,  "  She  has  been  drinking."  She  sat  down  before  the 
fireplace,  and,  after  a  pause,  said,  peevishly,  — 

«  Well,  child  !  " 

"  Well,  aunt,  dear  !  " 

" '  Well,  aunt,  dear  ! ' "  she  repeated,  sharply.  "  Eleanor, 
may  God  save  you  from  the  bitterness  of  having  a  sulky,  ob 
stinate  niece  when  you  are  got  old  like  me  !  —  a  niece  who 
loves  to  lacerate  a  poor  old  woman's  feelings  by  making  her 
ask  and  cross-question  before  she  can  get  one  word  of  infor 
mation.  There,  God  forgive  you,  after  all  I  have  done  for 
you  !  Don't  you  know  that  to-day  is  the  fifteenth,  you  wicked 
girl?" 

"  Alas,  I  know  it  well !  " 

"  Have  you  been  out  this  morning  ?  "  said  Aunt  Maria. 

"  Of  course  I  have,"  said  Eleanor,. in  a  low  voice. 

"  Well ! " 

"  I  have  nothing  to  tell  you.  Captain  Hertford  went  with 
me." 

.  "  Dear  man  !  "  said  Aunt  Maria.     "  Dear,  blessed,  sainted 
man  !     Arid,  0  !  he  loves  the  very  ground  you  walk  on  !  " 

"  I  am  sorry  he  should  so  far  waste  his  love,"  said  Eleanor. 
"  I  am,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  wicked  enough  to  have  the  very 
strongest  personal  dislike  for  him.  In  this  unhappy  business, 
however,  he  seems  to  have  behaved  kindly  and  well.  I  do 
not  judge  his  motives,  I  only  judge  his  actions,  aunt.  He  has 


1G4  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

behaved  kindly  and  delicately  towards  me,  and  I  will  try  to 
reward  him." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Aunt  Maria,  "if  you  would — " 

"  Now,  aunt,  neither  you  nor  he  can  possibly  be  silly  enough 
to  suppose  that  I  shall  marry  him.  When  I  talk  of  reward 
ing  him,  I  mean  this.  He  is  gone  to  stand  on  the  Tory  in 
terest  at  Glenport.  Before  he  went,  I  told  him  that,  if  he 
would,  as  soon  as  he  had  ascertained  the  cost  of  his  election, 
have  an  interview  with  my  man  of  business,  he  would  proba 
bly  find  those  expenses  provided  for." 

"  Why,  you  fool,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  "  that  is  giving  the  man 
two  or  three  thousand  pounds  without  an  equivalent." 

"  Well,  he  has  a  heart  somewhere,  I  suppose,"  said  Eleanor, 
"  or,  supposing  he  has  n't,  he  is  a  gentleman ;  and  having 
taken  his  price  to  leave  me  alone,  will  do  so." 

"  I  tell  you  he  loves  you,  you  fool.  I  tell  you  that  he  loves 
the  ground  you  walk  on.  He  is  a  man ;  he  is  worth  fifty 
coxcombs.  ,  You  —  " 

"  Don't  scold,  aunt.  If  he  does  love  me  so  deeply,  I  must 
say  he  has  taken  the  price  of  his  election  expenses  rather 
coolly.  Don't  begin  to  scold.  I  am  not  afraid  of  your  scold 
ing  now.  Austin  will  be  with  me  to-day." 

"  I  wish  he  was  dead,"  said  Aunt  Maria.  "  I  wish  Charles 
Barty  was  dead  ;  I  wish  Edward  Barty  was  dead." 

"  When  they  are  dead,  or  when  they  have  deserted  me, 
aunt,  you  may  take  me  and  do  what  you  will  with  me.  God 
knows  they  are  the  only  friends  I  have  on  this  earth.  All 
houses  are  shut  to  me,  aunt.  You  know  that.  But  I  have  a 
heaven  that  you  don't  know  about.  When  Austin  comes  in 
and  talks  to  me  in  his  sweet,  gentle  voice,  or  when  Charles 
Barty  comes  branking  in  with  his  merry  nonsense,  I  am- in  a 
different  world  to  the  one  you  know  of,  aunt ;  and  when  blind, 
noble  Edward  and  I  are  at  our  music  together,  —  then,  then, 


r 

AUSTIN   ELLIOT.  1G5 

aunt,  ah  !  where  are  Captain  Hertford  and  all  the  misery 
then?  —  miles,  miles  below  our  feet,  aunt?" 

"  You  go  rambling  about  to  church,  with  that  blind,  fiddling 
idiot,  in  a  way  which  in  my  time  no  girl  would  have  dared  to 
do.  People  will  talk  of  it.  Have  you  no  sense  of  what  is 
correct  ?  People  will  talk  about  you  as  sure  as  you  are  born." 

"  Very  few  people  are  likely  to  talk  about  you  and  I,  aunt," 
said  Eleanor.  "  We  have  learned  that  much,  in  spite  of  our 
wealth.  If  we  keep  quiet,  we  are  at  present  insignificant." 

Whereupon  Aunt  Maria  began  to  scold,  rambling  on  from 
misstatement  to  misstatement,  until  she  had  no  new  misstate 
ment  to  make,  and  then  beginning  da  capo  with  the  original 
grievance.  And  that  is  the  true  art  of  scolding  in  all  countries^ 
I  believe.  s?^ 


CHAPTER 


THERE  is  a  place  I  know  which  is  unlike  any  other  place  I 
have  ever  been  in.  It  is  only  the  transept  of  a  cathedral,  and 
yet  for  some  reason  it  is  different  to  all  other  transepts.  I 
cannot  tell  you  why,  but  so  it  is.  Possibly  the  reason  is  be 
cause  I  have  been  more  familiar  with  it  than  with  any  other, 
and  because  I  love  it  far  better  than  any  other.  The  place  I 
speak  of  is  Poet's  Corner. 

On  a  certain  day  Austin  Elliot  was  'in  Poet's  Corner,  sitting 
upon  Chaucer's  tomb.  Those  who  walked  up  and  down  in  the 
transept  only  noticed  that  a  very  handsome  and  well-dressed 
young  man,  with  appearance  of  extreme  youth,  was  sitting 
upon  Chaucer's  tomb.  No  one  knew  the  profoundly  deep 
schemes  which  were  revolving  within  that  youth's  head,  or 
under  that  youth's  curls. 


1G6  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

Austin  had  taken  to  heart  what  Lord  Charles  had  said  to 
him  at  Granitebridge,  and,  after  a  long  pause,  had  acted  on  it. 
The  mere  fact  that  he  had  taken  time  to  deliberate,  instead  of 
rushing  off  headlong  and  doing  just  what  his  friend  had  sug 
gested,  proved  to  him  most  satisfactorily  that  he  was  getting 
old,  sagacious,  knowing,  —  nay,  even  sly.  He  had  developed 
a  scheme  by  which  every  possible  obstacle  to  the  happiness  of 
all  parties  was  to  be  removed.  He  had  matured  it,  and  now 
he  was  going  to  broach  it.  It  required  the  consent  of  four 
or  five  people,  who  were  about  as  likely  to  agree  as  his  Holi 
ness  the  Pope  and  his  Majesty  the  King  of  Italy ;  but  still  his 
plan  was  a  good  one,  and  the  idea  of  failure  was  not  to  be 
thought  of. 

Things  were  very  unsatisfactory.  Eleanor  was  engaged  to 
him.  He  and  she  loved  and  trusted  one  another  beyond  the 
way  of  ordinary  lovers.  There  had  never  been  a  shade  of 
anger  or  jealousy  between  them  for  one  second.  He  was  his 
own  master.  She  was  of  age.  And  yet  things  were  most 
unsatisfactory. 

The  fact  was  that,  as  we  have  heard  before,  Eleanor  refused 
to  be  married  before  the  next  spring,  —  a  whole  twelvemonth. 
And  meanwhile  she  was  living,  as  it?  were,  under  the  protec 
tion  of  her  aunt,  —  an  awful  woman,  who  looked  red  and  wild, 
—  who  had  made  a  disturbance  in  church,  —  who  knew  no 
one,  —  whose  very  appearance  was  keeping  people  in  mind  of 
the  scandals  against  Eleanor's  father,  which  they  would  have 
laughed  at  and  forgotten  long  ago  if  they  had  not  been  re 
minded  of  them  by  the  appearance  of  this  terrible  woman  in 
the  Park,  in  Eleanor's  own  carriage,  every  day. 

And  again,  Captain  Hertford  was  a  man  of  very  odd 
character,  and  he  was  continually  in  Aunt  Maria's  company. 
Captain  Hertford  was  known  to  be  a  desperate,  though  suc 
cessful  gambler,  and  a  man  of  such  courage  and  skill  in  the 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  1G7 

noble  art  of  duelling  that  he  could  still  hold  his  head  up 
among  the  very  best  in  the  land.  Every  one  knew  all  sorts 
of  things  about  him ;  but  any  man  who  would  have  refused  to 
go  out  with  the  gallant  Captain  would  probably  have  had  to 
withdraw  his  name  from  his  Clubs.  Captain  Hertford  was,  in 
short,  a  notorious  blackguard,  —  a  weed  which  can  only  grow 
under  the  infernal,  devil-invented  system  of  Duello ;  and  yet 
a  man  with  whom  it  was  necessary  to  be  on  good  terms,  and  a 

member  of  Parliament.  He  sat  for  a  small  port  in  D shire. 

The  people  there  had  rather  wanted  a  Tory  member. 

They  had  very  much  wanted  their  railway.  Captain  Hert 
ford  had  undertaken  their  railway,  and  everything  else  they 
had  asked,  had  spent  a  moiety  of  Eleanor's  two  thousand 
pounds,  and  got  in  handsomely. 

Such  were  the  two  persons  who  seemed  to  use  Eleanor's 
house  as  their  own  home.  Austin's  brilliant  plan  was,  to 
marry  Eleanor,  and  buy  these  two  people  off,  —  to  bribe 
them  to  leave  her  alone. 

It  was  a  good  plan.  Eleanor  had  behaved  with  the  most 
consummate  discretion.  She  had  never  appeared  in  public 
with  her  aunt ;  she  had  only  a  few  old  schoolfellows  for  her 
friends ;  and,  as  for  going  out  to  any  sort  of  party,  in  any  rank 
in  life,  she  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing.  Every  one  (for 
people  were  getting  interested  in  her  strange  espiegle  style  of 
beauty,  her  immense  wealth,  her  curious  menage,  and  also  her 
excessive  modesty  and  good  taste),  —  every  one  knew  of  her 
engagement  to  that  young  Elliot,  and  thought  him  lucky. 
Every  one  knew  that  she  saw  nobody  except  Austin  and  his 
two  friends,  Lord  Edward  and  Lord  Charles  Barty,  and  after 
every  one  had  seen  the  mother  of  these  two  young  noblemen 
wait  at  the  door  of  St.  Paul's  (Knightsbridge)  until  the  'curi 
ous  little  being  came  out,  dressed  in  quiet  gray  silk,  with  a  big 
diamond  clasp  to  her  cloak,  and  had  seen  the  Duchess  introduce 


1G8  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

herself,  and  speak  kindly  to  her;  after  this  every  one  knew 
that  she  was  a  meritorious  young  lady ;  and  they  were  right, 
for  the  Duchess  was  never  wrong.  It  was  perfectly  evident  to 
every  one  after  this  that  there  nothing  stood  between  Eleanor 
and  entire  recognition,  save  the  elimination  of  Aunt  Maria  and 
Captain  Hertford. 

A  curious  thing  was,  that  Eleanor  never  appeared  in  public, 
except  to  go  to  church.  On  Sunday  morning  she  was  always 
at  her  place  at  St.  Paul's  (Knightsbridge)  ;  but  in  the  after 
noon,  and  every  day  through  the  week,  she  went  anywhere 
and  everywhere,  —  the  Abbey,  Margaret  Street,  nay,  between 
ourselves,  Moorfields,  and  Gordon  Square.  She  always  walked. 
If  no  one  else  was  with  her,  she  took  old  James  ;  but  this  was 
seldom.  Sometimes  Austin  would  go  with  her  ;  but  generally 
her  companion  was  blind  Lord  Edward  Barty.  They  used  to 
walk  very  fast,  for  they  were  a  very  strange-looking  couple, 
and  people  used  to  stare  at  them.  They  never  went  anywhere 
where  they  had  to  make  many  crossings,  for  Eleanor  was  ner 
vous  about  taking  him  over  them.  For  this  reason,  the  Abbey 
was  their  favorite  week-day  resort,  because  the  only  difficult 
crossing  is  at  the  top  of  Grosvenor  Place ;  after  this  you  are 
in  the  Parks,  and  all  is  plain  sailing. 

Lord  Edward  knew  every  organist  in  London,  and  always 
knew  what  music  there  would  be.  He  used  to  come  to 
Eleanor's  house,  and  they  two  would  try  to  render  it  on  the 
piano  until  it  was  time  to  start,  and  then  they  would  go  down 
to  the  Abbey  and  hear  their  crude  attempt  rendered  for  them 
by  the  master's  hand,  with  every  magnificent  accompaniment 
which  their  hearts  could  desire. 

On  this  day  Austin  had  called  at  Eleanor's  house,  and 
had  learned  that  she  was  gone  to  the  Abbey,  but  alone.  This 
determined  him,  instead  of  calling  again,  to  follow  her  there 
and  walk  home  with  her ;  and  so  we  find  him  sitting  on 
Chaucer's  tomb,  and  watching  for  her. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  1G9 

The  place  w.as  very  quiet,  for  very  few  people  were  saun 
tering  about  and  looking  at  the  monuments ;  but  presently 
the  organ  snarled  out  its  last  magnificent  dismissal,  and  two 
or  three  hundred  feet  came  whispering  across  the  pavement 
from  the  choir. 

Eleanor  was  nearly  the  last.  The  little  gray,  ghostly  figure 
came  stealing  on  from  light  to  darkness  so  gently  that  her 
footfall  could  not  be  heard  amongst  the  others,  the  little 
gloved  hands  were  hanging  at  her  side,  her  face  was  very 
calm  and  peaceful,  and  her  eyes  were  set  straight  on  Rare 
Ben  Jonson,  until  she  came  opposite  Chaucer's  tomb,  and 
she  turned  to  glance  on  it  as  usual;  and  then  her  face  lit 
up  with  joy,  for  Austin  was  sitting  there,  defiant  of  vergers, 
and  laughing  at  her. 

They  were  together  in  one  instant,  and  her  hand  was  on 
his  arm ;  for  a  minute  they  were  both  too  happy  to  say  one 
word. 

"  My  darling  bird,"  whispered  Austin,  —  for  they  were  in 
a  sacred  edifice,  —  "  were  you  going  to  walk  home  alone  in 
the  dusk?" 

"  Old  James  is  with  me,  Austy  dear,"  said  she.  "  When 
Lord  Edward  is  not  with  me,  I  always  bring  him." 

"  He  is  not  here  now,"  said  Austin.  "  I  wonder  if  he  has 
gone  to  sleep.  What  a  lark  if  he  should  be  locked  in." 

At  this  moment  a  terrible  disturbance  was  heard  in  the 
choir. 

"  0  Austin,  whatever  shall  we  do  ?  "  said  Eleanor. 

"  Stay  here,  my  love,"  said  Austin  ;  and  he  ran  back. 

A  verger  was  just  locking  the  gate  in  the  screen,  and 
seemed  inclined  to  dispute  passage ;  but  Austin  pushed  past 
him,  and  on  entering  saw  a  sight  which  turned  him  to  stone. 
Old  James  had  got  hold  of  a  verger  by  the  hair,  had  dragged 
him  down  across  a  bench,  and  was  beating  him  about  the  back 
8 


170  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

of  the  head  with  Eleanor's  best  prayer-book.  On  benches 
around  .stood  angelic,  white-robed  choristers  in  groups,  who 
were  saying,  as  loud  as  they  dared,  "  Crikey  !  "  —  "  Bray vo, 
Kous  !  "  and  "  Evans,  if  you  please,  gentlemen  !  "  and  making 
other  low-lived  remarks,  which  prevailed  among  the  youth  of 
our  metropolis  in  the  year  of  grace  1845  — 4G. 

Austin  garotted  and  pinioned  James,  and  turned  him  round. 
James,  thinking  Austin  to  be  another  verger,  who  had  taken 
him  in  the  rear,  made  savage  bites  at  him  over  his  shoulders, 
until  Austin  put  him  down  in  a  safe  place,  upon  which  James 
remarked,  —  "  Well,  you  are  a  pretty  sort  of  a  friend  !  If 
you  had  let  me  a  gone  on  till  he  got  stupid,  1  'd  have  shifted 
my  hand  and  got  the  clasp-side  of  the  book  on  the  back  of  his 
head.  Lord!  I  'd  have  killed  him  in  three  minutes." 

"  It  is  better  that  he  should  be  allowed  to  live,  to  complete 
the  measure  of  his  crimes,"  said  Austin,  pretty  well  knowing, 
from  long  experience,  that  old  James  had  a  very  strong  case, 
—  that,  if  not  actually  in  the  right,  he  was  uncommonly  near 
it.  It  appeared,  from  the  choristers,  and  from  the  good  mas 
ter,  who  had  fle'd  for  assistance,  and  from  the  other  vergers, 
that  old  James  was  in  the  right,  after  all.  He  had  fallen 
asleep,  until  he  was  awakened  by  the  departure  of  the  last  of 
the  congregation ;  he  had  then  rapidly  slid  up  to  where  Elea 
nor's  gold-clasped  prayer-book  lay,  to  follow  her  with  it  as  his 
duty  was.  The  verger  had  got  into  the  bench  before  him,  and, 
thinking  he  was  stealing  the  best  prayer-book  he  could  see, 
had  very  properly  caught  hold  of  old  James  by  his  coat,  and, 
on  his  resisting,  had  struck  him.  As  Austin  and  the  master 
pointed  out,  it  was  only  a  case  for  mutual  apologies,  and  a 
sovereign,  given  by  Austin  to  the  conscientious  verger,  made 
matters  infinitely  comfortable,  and  so  he  walked  the  old  man 
off  triumphant. 

Old  James  had  burst  his  braces  in  the  melee,  and  insisted 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  171 

on  stopping  to  mend  them  with  a  knife  and  some  string,  before 
he  rejoined  Eleanor. 

Austin  took  this  occasion  to  ask,  "  "Why  did  you  go  to  sleep 
in  church,  James  ?  Just  think  what  it  would  have  been  for 
Miss  Eleanor  if  I  had  not  been  here." 

"  Ah  !  lucky  you  was.  Uncommon  seldom  you  comes  to 
church  a  week-days,  God  forgive  you  !  Why  don't  you  take 
her  to  church  a  week-days,  like  Lord  Edward  do,  blind  though 
he  is  ?  I  'm  not  one  of  they  as  holds  there  's  any  harm  in 
coming  to  church  a  week-days." 

"  Neither  am  I,"  said  Austin. 

"  Then  why  don't  'ee  ?  "  said  the  old  man.  "  Lord  Edward, 
he  is  a  gentleman  ;  he  'd  be  a  gentleman  if  he  were  led  down 
Piccadilly  by  a  brown,  curly-tailed,  mongrel  dog,  and  a  wicker 
basket  in  his  mouth,  for  the  boys  to  put  bits  of  backer-pipe 
and  oyster-shells  into  it.  Ay,  he  would,  although,  mind  you, 
I  'm  not  one  of  they  as  holds  with  blind  folks  in  generally,  — 
they  're  mortal  sly." 

"  But  why  did  you  go  to  sleep  in  church  ?  "  said  Austin. 

"  Because  I  had  too  much  to  drink  in  the  morning,"  snapped 
the  old  man,  who  was  undeniably  sober  now.  "  You  'd  have 
done  the  same  if  you  had  had  they  wardens  to  deal  with  all 
the  morning.  '  What 's  your  name,  and  what  do  you  want  ?  ' 
says  one  as  has  drunk  with  me  fifty  times.  '  Seggetary  State's 
order,'  I  says,  '  and  none  of  your  nonsense  ;  Lamb  and  Flag 
at  half  past  one,  old  boy.  How  is  he  ?  And  I  seen  him. 
And  Lamb  and  Flag  it  was  at  half  past  one,  and  drat  they 
warders  and  all  belonging  to  'em.  Here  's  Miss  ! " 

Austin  and  Eleanor  dismissed  old  James,  and  walked  home 
together  across  the  Park,  through  the  gathering  darkness. 

They  hardly  spoke  one  word,  until,  wending  through  the 
shrubberies  they  came  on  the  lake,  and  then  Austin  spoke. 

He  gently  and  delicately  laid  the  whole  case  before  her,  as 


172  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

we  have  made  it  out  for  him  above.  He  laid  before  her  the 
doubtfulness  of  her  position  in  the  world  while  those  two  peo 
ple,  Aunt  Maria  and  Captain  Hertford,  occupied  the  house ; 
and  she  agreed  with  him.  in  both. 

"  My  dearest !  "  she  said,  "  do  you  not  think  that  I  must 
feel  all  this  more  acutely  than  you  ?  I  am  not  a  foolish  little 
body  by  any  means  ;  I  should  get  on  well  in  society,  and  I 
should  be  immensely  fond  of  society.  Do  you  think  that  I 
willingly  live  with  two  such  millstones  round  my  neck  as  those 
two  people  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  remedy  at  hand,"  said  Austin. 

"  I  know  it,  but  an  impossible  one." 

"  If  you  marry  me  at  once,  you  will  never  be  plagued  with 
them  any  more.  I  shall  have  authority,  and  will  banish  them. 
My  father's  old  friends  would  flock  round  you,  and  you  would 
take  the  place  that  your  wealth  and  talent  entitle  you  to." 

"  All  this,  my  dearest,  is  mere  truism.  But  I  cannot  marry 
you  before  next  April  twelvemonth,  Austin." 

"  Now  why  not,  my  own  ?  " 

"  Ah !  there  you  must  trust  me,  my  Austin.  There  is  a 
skeleton  in  our  cupboard.  You  are  going  into  public  life, 
and  I  am  going  with  you ;  you  will  win  a  peerage  perhaps, 
—  at  all  events,  be  prominently  before  the  world.  We  must 
have  the  road  quite  clear  before  we  start  our  coach." 

"  And  am  I  not  to  know  what  this  skeleton  is  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  until  I  tell  you.  It  must  not  be  said  that 
we  married  while  such  and  such  was  the  case.  If  it  be  pos 
sible,  I  would  rather  that  you  never  knew." 

"  But  others  know." 

"  We  can  buy  them.  You  always  knew  that  there  were 
queer  stories  about  the  Hiltons.  You  have  heard  the  stories 
about  my  father  ;  you  know  all  about  my  poor  brother ;  you 
know  about  Aunt  Maria.  You  love  me,  my  Austin.  I  have 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  173 

great  wealth,  which  is  all  your  own,  and  with  which  you  must 
make  your  way  in  the  world.  There  are  scandals  about  our 
family  which  must  be  smothered.  Until  they  are  smothered 
and  the  road  is  clear,  it  would  be  fatal  to  your  prospects  for  us 
to  marry.  I  am  at  work  day  and  night  —  with  you  only  in 
my  thoughts,  God  knows,  my  darling !  —  to  clear  the  way  for 
you  towards  honor  and  fame.  I  am  working  for  you,  Austin, 
like  a  patient  little  mole,  so  diligently  and  slyly.  If  you  claim 
my  promise  next  spring,  I  will,  at  all  events,  lay  all  the  facts 
before  you,  and  you  shall  say  whether  you  will  have  me  or  no." 

"  You  will  not  tell  me  now  ?  " 

"  No.  It  may  happen  that  you  may  never  know.  On  that 
wild  chance,  I  keep  you  in  the  dark.  But  still,  if  you  demand, 
before  you  marry  me,  an  account  of  everything,  I  shall  have  to 
give  it  you.  At  present,  your  happiness  and  mine  is,  as  far  as 
I  see,  bound  up  in  your  trusting  implicitly  to  me.  Will  you 
trust  me,  Austin  ?  " 

"  I  will  trust  you  implicitly,  my  own  Eleanor,"  he  answered, 
slowly,  looking  down  into  her  eyes,  —  who  would  not  have 
trusted  those  patient,  quiet  eyes  ?  —  "  for  I  will  trust  you  im 
plicitly.  I  were  a  dog  else,  I  think." 

"  Mind  one  thing,  Austin  ;  keep  near  me,  let  me  see  you 
continually.  Never  forget  what  I  told  you  before.  She  can 
scold  me  and  frighten  me  into  submission  at  times." 

"  Cannot  you  get  rid  of  her  ?  " 

"  No.  She  would  create  a  scandal  when  I  want  all  things 
quiet.  You  must  do  that.  —  you  must  get  rid  of  her." 


171  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

.  ALTHOUGH  Austin  resolved  to  trust  Eleanor  most  fully  and 
entirely,  yet,  if  we  said  that  he  was  altogether  satisfied  and 
pleased,  we  should  be  saying  that  he  was  something  more  or 
less  than  human.  He  was  a  little,  ever  so  little,  nettled,  and 
it  was  a  trial  to  him  that  the  great  coarse-faced  brutal  bully 
should  be  always  in  her  house,  and,  moreover,  should  know  of 
things  which  he  might  not.  He  hated  Captain  Hertford  worse 
than  ever  ;  he  hated  Aunt  Maria  worse  than  ever  ;  but,  never 
theless,  he  felt  sure  that  in  a  worldly  point  of  view  Eleanor 
was  right.  The  Hiltons  were  a  queer  family.  If  there  was, 
as  Eleanor  said  there  was,  something  wrong,  still  it  was  better 
that  matters  should  be  let  down  easy,  and  the  road  cleared 
before  they  started*-  He  determined  to  trust  Eleanor  im 
plicitly. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Austin  had  come  to  this  resolu 
tion  without  assistance.  After  the  conversation  detailed  in  the 
last  chapter,  he  had  sat  in  his  room  for  an  hour  or  more,  and 
had  found  himself  getting  peevish,  almost  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  ;  had  begun  to  feel  —  dreadful  thought !  —  that  he  was 
being  fooled.  Men  like  him,  —  men  who  had  never  been  tried, 
and  have  looked  only  at  the  surface  of  things ;  men  who  believe 
only  in  the  words  which  represent  things,  and  have  no  actual 
knowledge  of  the  things  they  represent,  —  are  more  apt  to  be 
jealous  and  suspicious  than  those  who  have  had  their  noses 
actually  to  the  grindstone,  and  know  from  experience  what 
good  faith  and  falsehood,  trust  and  mistrust,  really  mean. 

He  was  in  a  fair  way  to  get  jealous,  when  there  was  a 
bounding  foot  on  the  stairs,  —  dog  Robin  leapt  up  and  barked 
joyously,  and  the  next  minute  Lord  Charles  burst  into  the 
room,  crying,  — 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  175 

I 

"  Come,  come,  laggard !  to  the  House !     Stafford  O'Brien  is 

on  his  legs,  and  there  is  all  sorts  of  fun  in  the  wind !  " 

Austin  came  at  once.  On  their  walk  from  Austin's  lodg 
ings  in  Pall  Mall,  he  had  told  his  friend  everything ;  and 
under  the  influence  of  his  friend's  affectionate  shrewdness,  all 
the  mists  had  cleared  away ;  and  by  the  time  he  had  left  his 
friend,  and  had  squeezed  into  a  tolerable  place  in  the  gallery, 
he  was  himself  again,  prepared  to  enjoy  the  noble  sport  which 
was  going  on  in  the  arena  below. 

Lord  Brooke  was  speaking,  but  the  people  in  the  gallery 
were  whispering  to  one  another  about  Lord  Granby's  speech, 
which  seemed  to  have  been  telling.  Before  Austin  could  hear 
anything  of  it,  Lord  Brooke  sat  down,  and  Lord  Worsley  rose. 
He  made  some  terribly  hard  hitting.  When  Austin  heard  his 
quotations  from  old  speeches  of  Sir  Robert  Peel's  and  Sir 
James  Graham's,  terribly  telling  as  they  were,  he  certainly, 
mad  Peelite  as  he  was,  did  wish  that  they  had  never  been  ut 
tered  ;  and  he  also  wished,  most  piously,  that  the  noble  Baron 
was  on  board  his  yacht,  or  at  Appuldercombe,  or  anywhere, 
save  in  that  House,  quoting  those  confounded  old  speeches. 

Yet  these  attacks  on  his  hero  made  him  somewhat  angry. 
Of  course  they  were  easily  answered,  but  it  was  very  provok 
ing  to  have  to  eat  one's  words  in  a  laughing  house.  Austin 
began  to  grow  warm  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  left 
Eleanor  pretty  much  to  herself  for  a  week. 

On  the  thirteenth  he  bethought  him  that  he  would  have  a 
joke  with  her,  so  he  sportively  sent  her  a  valentine,  and  on 
Saturday  morning,  the  fourteenth,  he  went  to  visit  her,  intent 
on  hearing  the  fate  of  the  valentine  he  had  sent  her.  The  door 
was  opened  by  old  James,  who  said,  "  Hush !" 

Austin  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  she  when  she  was  carrying  on  ?  "  asked 
the  old  man  ;  "  listen  to  her  now  ! " 


176  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

Aunt  Maria's  voice  was  sadly  audible  indeed  ;  hoarse,  loud, 
and  irregular,  coming  from  the  drawing-room.  Austin  mut 
tered  something  between  his  teeth,  and  went  quickly  up-stairs. 

He  opened  the  door,  and  she  ceased  when  she  saw  him. 
She  looked  very  red  and  wild,  and  Eleanor  sat  opposite  to 
her,  with  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  perfectly  patient,  and 
careless  of  what  the  old  woman  might  say.  The  old  woman 
had  evidently  been  scolding  her  hardest  at  her.  As  Austin 
came  in,  Aunt  Maria  held  her  tongue,  and  Eleanor  looked  up 
and  smiled  ;  but  Austin,  being  her  lover,  could  see  what  oth 
ers  perhaps  could  not.  He  had  previously  once  or  twice  found 
her  in  a  state  of  depression  after  one  of  Aunt  Maria's  scold 
ings,  but  on  these  occasions  she  had  always  been  herself  again 
immediately:  on  this  occasion  such  was  not  the  case.  She 
looked  up  at  him  and  smiled,  but  Austin  could  see  that  she 
was  not  herself ;  that  she  looked  wan  and  pale  and  anxious,  — 
strange  to  say,  Austin  thought  he  had  never  seen  her  look 
so  handsome  before. 

He  could  not  help  wondering  what  Aunt  Maria's  ingenuity 
had  found  to  say  so  very  disagreeable  as  to  disturb  Eleanor's 
equanimity  ;  but  in  spite  of  thinking  about  this,  he  could  not 
also  help  thinking  how  very  handsome  Eleanor  looked.  She 
was  sitting  opposite  her  aunt,  and  was  dressed  for  walking, 
with  the  exception  of  her  bonnet,  which  lay  on  the  floor 
beside  her.  She  wore  the  long  gray  cloak  which  ladies  wore 
just  then,  which  covered  everything ;  her  chin,  after  her  first 
look  at  him,  had  dropped  once  more  on  her  breast,  and  her 
hands  were  folded  in  her  lap  before  her,  with  quiet  patience  : 
and  the  dull  gray  color  of  her  habit,  and  its  almost  foldless 
simplicity,  harmonized  so  amazingly  well  with  the  dull  patience 
of  her  face,  that  she  formed  a  picture,  and  a  study  of  quiet 
endurance,  which  made  Austin  think  he  had  never  in  his  life 
seen  any  one  so  beautiful. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  177 

Aunt  Maria  was  in  a  blind  fury  at  something.  She  rose 
and  left  the  room  without  looking  at  Austin. 

"  Has  she  been  scolding  you,  my  own  ? "  asked  Austin, 
bending  over  Eleanor  and  kissing  her. 

"  Yes,  Austin.  Where  does  she  learn  it  all  ?  Where  has 
she  lived  ?  What  has  she  done  ?  Austin,  dear,  take  me  to 
church." 

"  Let  us  come." 

"  Ay  !  That  is  good  of  you,"  she  said.  "  If  it  was  not  for 
the  church,  I  should  die  under  it  all.  They  should  leave  the 
churches  open  as  they  do  abroad.  Come  on ;  we  shall  be  in 
time.  Sometimes,  Austin,  when  she  is  like  that,  I  get  away 
and  go  over  to  the  church  and  find  it  shut,  and  then  —  ah ! 
then  —  you  don't  know  what  it  is,  my  own." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Austin  ;  "  but  if  it  distresses  you,  my 
love,  I  can  be  sorry.  I  don't  like  going  to  church.  You  must 
teach  me  to  like  it." 

"  I  will.  Austin,  should  you  be  very  angry  if  I  were  to 
join  the  Romish  Church?" 

"  I !  Angry !  No.  I  should  not  be  angry.  You  would 
find  it  a  mistake,  though.  It  won't  hold  water." 

"  Will  the  English  Church  hold  water  ?  "  said  Eleanor. 

"  Why,  yes,  distinctly  so.  But  what  on  earth  do  you  want 
to  subscribe  to  the  whole  business  for  ?  Surely  you  get  as 
much  or  more  at  St.  Paul's  as  you  do  in  Cadogan  Street. 
Have  you  ever  been  there  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"I  wouldn't  go  again.  I  don't  think  you  have  thought 
much  about  it.  You  don't  know  how  much  you  subscribe  to. 
Have  you  been  there  often  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Don't  go  again.  I  don't  like  your  going  there.  Did 
Edward  Barty  take  you  there?" 

8*  L 


178  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  No ;  I  went  there  by  myself.  I  tried  to  get  him  to  go, 
but  he  got  angry." 

"  He  was  quite  right.     Why  did  you  go  ?  " 

"  Because  it  always  stands  open.  And  if  you  were  a 
woman,  and  had  Aunt  Maria  to  live  with  you,  and  a  bitter 
trouble  which  you  can't  tell  to  the  love  of  your  heart,  yon, 
Austin,  would  be  glad  to  slip  away  sometimes  and  get  into  the 
quiet  church,  and  kneel  and  forget  it  all." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  Austin.  "  Meanwhile,  you  must  pray 
for  me.  Here  we  are  at  the  church-door.  I  wish  we  might 
sit  together." 

"  We  may  pray  together,"  said  she.  "  Austin,  will  you 
come  to  the  Abbey  with  me  to-morrow  morning  ?  " 

"  Surely  I  will,"  said  he.  And  they  went  into  church,  he 
to  one  place  and  she  to  another,  as  is  the  custom  in  some 
churches.  .When  he  met  her  again  at  the  church-door  she 
was  still  anxious  and  silent,  and  seemed  to  have  a  different 
expression  on  her  face  to  any  Austin  had  seen  before. 

On  the  pleasant  Sunday  morning  he  came  to  take  her  to 
the  Abbey.  The  look  of  yesterday  had  deepened.  She 
looked  very  worn  and  anxious,  and  he  was  much  distressed. 
The  morning  was  a  bright,  slightly  frosty  one,  and  the  sun 
streamed  into  the  old  Abbey  through  the  southeastern  win 
dows,  and  fell  upon  the  beautiful  young  pair  of  lovers  as  they 
sat  together.  Eleanor  was  absorbed  in  her  prayers,  but  Austin 
was  vacantly  watching  the  lines  of  light  in  the  thick  atmos 
phere,  —  how  they  shifted  and  crossed  one  another  as  the  sun 
went  westward,  —  was  wondering  how  the  deuce  those  old 
monks  got  it  into  their  heads  to  build  such  a  beautiful  place, 
and  why  the  fellows  of  the  present  day  could  not,  in  that  re 
spect,  hold  a  candle  to  the  men  of  the  thirteenth,  fourteenth, 
and  fifteenth  centuries.  He  thought  of  these  things  in  a 
vague,  ruminant,  ox-like  frame  of  mind,  instead  of  attending 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  179 

to  his  prayers,  with  about  as  much  earnestness  as  a  fly  in  the 
sunshine,  and  very  nearly  determined  to  ask  some  one  about 
it.  Possibly  he  might  have  asked  some  one  some  day,  but 
they  had  to  stand  up  at  this  point  of  his  cogitations,  and  the 
mere  act  of  standing  up  set  him  thinking  about  the  Bill,  and 
what  an  awful  sell  it  would  be  for  Lord  Lincoln  if  Hilyard 
were  to  beat  him  for  South  Notts.  He  went  on  thinking 
about  the  chances  at  Newark  long  after  they  sat  down  again. 
He  was  actually  smiling  at  the  thought  of  the  Duke's  anger 
against  the  renegade,  and  thinking  how  much  better  it  would 
be  if  the  Duke  would  keep  his  god-like  rage  penned  in  his 
own  bosom,  when  he  felt  Eleanor's  hand  on  his  arm. 

He  had  been  very  inattentive,  and  he  blushed  and  looked 
down  on  the  prayer-book  which  lay  open  between  them.  Her 
finger  was  on  the  very  passage  in  the  Litany  which  the  priest 
was  intoning  at  that  instant, —  we  humbly  venture  to  think 
one  of  the  most  sublime  pieces  of  uninspired  prayer  put  up  by 
man  to  his  God !  — 

"  That  it  may  please  thee  to  preserve  all  that  travel  by  land 
or  by  water  ;  all  women  laboring  of  child  ;  all  sick  persons  and 
young  children ;  and  to  show  thy  pity  upon  all  prisoners  and 
captives." 

Those  who  do  not  appreciate  fully  that  passage  in  the 
Litany,  had  better  hear  it  read  out  by  the  captain  in  latitude 
sixty  south,  when  the  sea  is  thundering  and  booming,  and  the 
ship  is  reeling  and  rolling,  and  the  wind  is  screaming,  and  the 
cruel  icebergs  are  gleaming,  half  seen  in  the  snow-fog,  and 
the  horrid  long  night  is  settling  down  over  the  raging  ocean. 
They  will  find  out  what  "travelling  by  land  or  water"  means 
then,  I  '11  warrant  them.  The  time  came  when  Austin  real 
ized  one  part  of  this  glorious  prayer,  and  not  the  part  by  any 
means  that  he  ever  dreamt  of  realizing ;  and  when  he  did  so  he 
remembered  that,  as  soon  as  this  one  paragraph  in  the  Litany 


180  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

was  finished,  Eleanor  removed  her  hand  from  his  arm  once 
more,  and  went  on  with  her  devotions ;  and  that  he  began  to 
think  how  quietly  Lord  Henry  Lennox  had  got  in  for  Chi- 
Chester,  and  of  the  meeting  of  the  laborers  in  Wiltshire,  and 
what  a  strange  business  that  was ;  and  of  Lucy  Simkins's 
speech  and  Mary  Ferris's  speech. 

And  of  Lord  Charles  Barty's  furious  blind  rage  when  he 
read  those  speeches  aloud  ;  and  how,  when  he  had  come  to 
the  passage,  "  I  biled  they  challucks  for  my  children,  and 
the  neighbors  said  they  was  poison ;  and  I  says,  then,  they  'd 
better  die  with  a  full  belly  than  a  empty  one " ;  that  young 
nobleman  had  rushed  up  and  down  the  room  crying  out 
for  free-trade  or  revolution.  And  so,  feeding  his  soul  on  his 
own  indignation  against  the  Protectionists,  Austin,  not  regard 
ing  the  service,  went  on  until  he  was  nearly  as  furious  as  Lord 
Charles  himself.  And,  all  the  time,  quiet,  patient  Eleanor  was 
sitting  at  his  side,  leaning  ever  so  slightly  against  him.  She, 
too,  had  within  her  causes,  deep  enough,  of  anger  and  indigna 
tion,  deeper  possibly  than  Austin's  indignation  on  account  of 
the  Wiltshire  laborers,  and  his  anger  against  the  Duke  of  Rich 
mond  and  Mr.  Miles.  But  the  mere  feeling  of  her  lover's 
shoulder  against  her  own  made  her  quiet  and  contented ;  and 
although  the  cloud  on  her  face  grew  darker  and  darker,  as  time 
went  on,  yet  still,  though  her  face  was  pinched  and  anxious, 
she  was  happy.  She  would  have  sat  there,  leaning  against  his 
shoulder,  and  have  died  as  she  sat,  with  perfect  contentment. 
When  the  sermon  was  over,  and  they  rose  up,  she  took  up  her 

l^/V  ^**^* 

burden  on&  more,  and  carried  it. 

"  My  Eleanor,"  said  Austin,  as  they  walked  home,  "  you  are 
looking  worn  and  anxious." 

"  I  am,  Austin.  To-morrow  afternoon  I  shall  be  myself 
again." 

"  Shall  I  come  to  you  to-morrow  morning  ?  " 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  181 

"  No.  To-morrow  is  penance  day.  You  have  often  laughed 
at  me  as  a  Tractarian,  dear  Austin.  I  do  penance  once  a 
month." 

"  What  kind  of  penance  ? "  said  he,  trying  a  harmless 
joke. 

"  A  pilgrimage,  Austin." 

«  Whither  ?  " 

"  You  must  not  know.     You  must  not  follow." 

"  I  will  not  follow,  if  you  give  the  order,"  said  he. 

"  Then  I  give  it,"  said  Eleanor. 

Austin  was  quite  contented.  In  the  first  place,  he  had 
thorough  confidence  in  Eleanor,  and  had  a  shrewd  suspicion 
that  it  was  best  not  to  know  too  much  about  the  Hilton  family 
history  ;  in  the  next,  there  were  affairs  to  the  fore,  which  en 
gaged  his  attention  more  than  the  easy,  confidential  courtship 
to  which  he  had  committed  himself.  This  was  the  spring  of 
1846.  All  England  had  gone  politically  mad,  and  Austin 
among  the  rest.  His  father  had  always  placed  political  suc 
cess  before  him  as  the  great  object  on  this  side  of  the  grave, 
while  he  had  spoken  with  truly  ministerial  reserve  about  suc 
cess  on  the  other.  Old  Mr.  Elliot  had  been  very  anxious  to 
make  Austin  ambitious,  and  Austin  had  refused  to  be  made 
ambitious  ;  but  had  gone  about,  with  his  hands  in  his  breeches 
pockets,  laughing  at  the  whole  business,  until  — 

Well,  until  this  year,  1846.  Ever  since  he  was  a  child,  he 
had  read  about  great  political  struggles,  just  as  we  used  to 
read  about  the  old  European  wars,  until  the  Crimean  cam 
paign  came  upon  us,  and  turned  all  the  familiar  printed  words 
about  the  deeds  of  our  fathers  into  letters  of  blood  ;  which  we 
eagerly  compared  with  those  which  'told  of  the  deeds  of  our 
brothers ;  and  the  history  of  war  became  once  more  a  terrible 
reality. 

Austin  had  thought  that  great   political  earthquakes    had 


182  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

come  to  an  end  in  1831  ;  that  politics  were  certainly  the  occu 
pation  of  a  gentleman,  but  were  not  likely  to  be  very  interest 
ing,  because  there  was  no  question,  nor  was  there  likely  to  be 
one.  Sir  Robert  Peel's  statement  in  January  undeceived  him. 
The  change  of  opinkm  of  three  of  the  first  men  in  the  country 
showed  him  that  there  was  sport  a-field ;  and,  after  the  first 
leonine  roar  of  the  Duke  of  Richmond,  he  began  to  go  mad 
with  the  rest. 

And  in  this  manner  the  leaven  of  political  ambition,  which 
his  father  had  so  carefully  worked  into  him,  had  begun  to  act 
with  a  vengeance.  And  so,  just  at  the  time  we  speak  of,  his 
courtship  of  Eleanor,  his  attention  to  her  affairs,  his  jealousy 
of  Hertford,  and  his  distrust  of  Aunt  Maria,  were  quite  second 
ary  objects  :  had  his  jealousy  been  excited  before,  so  much  as 
to  make  him  extort  an  explanation  from  Eleanor,  it  would 
have  been  better  for  them  both. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

AUSTIN  sat  the  long  debate  of  Monday  out,  and  left  the 
House  at  half  past  two.  There  was  news  from  India,  which 
was  announced  by  Lord  Jocelyn ;  and  then  the  weary  corn- 
law  debate  began,  and  Sir  Robert  Peel,  getting  on  his  legs, 
spoke  calmly  and  deliberately  for  four  hours,  explaining  what 
had  taken  place  in  the  autumn,  and  other  matters,  while 
Austin  sat  and  listened  as  patiently  as  a  reporter.  So  the 
next  morning,  instead  of  riding  out  before  breakfast,  he  lay 
in  bed,  in  a  happy  sleep,  till  eleven,  dreaming,  among  other 
trifles,  that  Sir  Robert  Peel  had  sent  Aunt  Maria  with  a 
hostile  message  to  Sir  John  Tyrrell,  and  that  Colonel  Evans 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  183 

was  escorted  to  the  hustings  opposite  Northumberland  House 
by  a  troop  of  Sikh  cavalry,  headed  by  old  James.  He  slept 
so  long,  that  his  servant  would  not  stand  it  any  longer,  and 
woke  him ;  and  as  soon  as  he  had  breakfasted,  he  went  off 
westward  to  see  Eleanor. 

She  was  quite  herself  again,  though  she  looked  very  pale. 
He  had  a  happy  morning  with  her.  He  gave  her,  from 
recollection,  the  heads  of  Sir  Robert  Peel's  explanation.  She 
sat  sewing  at  her  needlework  all  the  time,  and  every  now 
and  then  asked  a  question.  She  not  only  appeared  interested, 
but  she  was  so.  When  he  had  done,  she  put  her  needle  into 
her  canvas,  and  deliberately  expressed  her  opinion  that  it 
was  unsatisfactory;  that  the  one  hitch  in  it  was,  that  he 
ought  to  have  gone  to  the  country,  and  had  not  done  so. 
And  Austin  argued  with  her,  and  tangled  her  wool,  and  said 
she  was  obstinate  and  disagreeable ;  but  she  stuck  to  her 
opinion  about  the  dissolution,  and  would  not  be  talked  out 
of  it.  And  so  they  passed  a  long  happy  morning  together, 
and  were  both  of  them  sorry  when  old  James  announced 
luncheon,  and  they  had  to  go  down  to  the  dining-room,  where 
was  Aunt  Maria,  boisterously  good-humored,  and  very  red  in 
the  face,  who  amused  herself  by  continuous  railing  abuse 
against  Sir  Robert  Peel. 

And  a  most  exciting  and  delightful  month  it  was.  The 
four  friends  —  the  brothers  Barty,  Eleanor,  and  Austin  —  were 
more  together  this  month  than  ever  they  were  afterwards. 
Lord  Charles  Barty  spoke  once,  and  spoke  very  well  indeed  ; 
and  Austin  and  blind  Lord  Edward,  who  had  sat  patiently  in 
the  gallery  to  hear  him,  brought  him  home  in  triumphant 
delight  to  Eleanor,  and  made  her  give  them  supper  in  honor 
of  the  great  event ;  and  a  right  pleasant  supper  those  four 
noble  souls  had.  Then  all  sorts  of  things  happened,  and  kept 
them  alive.  Sir  De  Lacy  Evans  got  in  for  Westminster,  at 


184  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

'which  Lord  Charles  and  Eleanor  were  glad,  though  Austin 
would  have  preferred  Captain  Rous,  as  he  liked  a  snack  of 
Toryism  in  his  politics.  Then  Lord  Lincoln  was  rejected  for 
Notts,  which  made  them  all  sorry,  and  made  Lord  Charles 
say  what  he  would  have  done  if  his  father  had  dared  to 
influence  his  election  for  Granitebridge.  Then  there  was  a 
Polish  insurrection,  which  caused  quiet  little  Eleanor  to  utter 
the  most  ferocious  and  revolutionary  sentiments  about  the 
Emperors  of  Russia  and  Austria,  and  which  incited  Lord 
Edward  to  compose  a  piece  of  music  expressive  of  the  woes 
of  Poland  and  their  triumphant  redressal ;  which  was  played 
by  hammering  away  at  the  black  keys  until  they  were  all  out 
of  tune,  and  then  beginning  on  the  white,  and,  when  they 
were  finished,  putting  on  the  pedals  and  working  both  to 
gether  in  one  magnificent  crash.  But,  in  spite  of  all  this,  the 
Polish  revolt  ended  as  all  other  Polish  revolts  will,  until  the 
cows  come  home ;  and  the  Poles  got  lovingly  corrected  by 
their  father,  Nicholas. 

Then  came  the  news  of  Moodkee  and  Ferozeshah  ;  and 
Eleanor  cried  about  Sir  Robert  Sale  ;  and  Lord  Edward  got 
into  the  organ-loft  at  St.  Paul's,  and  induced  the  organist  to 
let  him  play  the  people  out ;  and  he  played  such  a  triumphant 
symphony,  that  the  people  all  came  back  again,  under  the  im 
pression  that,  this  being  Lent,  the  organist  had  incautiously 
refreshed  himself  with  strong  liquors  on  a  fasting  stomach  ; 
a  11 3.  the  organist  had  to  go  secretly  to  the  back  part  of  the 
organ  and  let  off  the  wind.  It  was  a  happy  month  for  these 
four  innocent  souls,  and  before  their  golden  happy  laughter 
Aunt  Maria  retired  into  her  dressing-room,  and  had  her  meals 
and  scolded  her  maid  there,  to  every  one's  great  content. 

And  Captain  Hertford  came  but  seldom  that  month,  — 
whether  he  was  busy,  or  because  for  a  time  he  felt  himself 
beaten  by  the  young  people,  we  cannot  say.  It  was  the  hap- 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  185 

piest  month  that  these  four  had  had  since  they  had  known 
one  another. 

Did  either  of  the  three  others  know  of  the  weary  grief  that 
was  at  Eleanor's  heart,  —  of  the  dark  cloud  which  settled 
down  on  her  face  each  night,  as  soon  as  they  were  gone,  and 
had  left  her  alone  to  the  long  night-watches  ?  Not  one  of 
them,  or  they  would  surely  have  said  that  she  was  the  most 
valiant  and  noble  little  martyr  on  earth.  Many  things  had  to 
happen  before  Austin  found  it  out ;  and  one  of  that  group 
never  found  it  out  at  all. 

Patiently  she  would  sit  at  her  window,  looking  southward 
across  the  crescent,  at  one  light  in  some  sick  person's  room 
opposite,  and  wondering  whether  their  burden  was  so  heavy 
as  her  own,  until  the  last  footfall  died  away  in  the  deserted 
street.  Sometimes  Aunt  Maria  would  send  for  her  after  they 
were  gone,  and  say  such  terrible  things  to  her  as  only  one 
woman  can  say  to  another,  —  nay,  as  only  a  woman  well 
practised  in  scolding  like  Aunt  Maria  can  say.  But  Eleanor 
would  only  sit  and  listen,  with  folded  hands.  She  had  a  grief 
deeper  than  Aunt  Maria,  —  a  grief  which  made  Aunt  Maria's 
furious  scolding  sound  like  the  singing  of  a  mosquito  outside 
the  net,  —  a  sound  which  makes  your  sleep  uneasy,  but  which 
does  not  wake  you. 

That  happy  month  drew  to  a  close.  On  the  14th  they  were 
all  together.  The  cloud,  which  had  settled  on  Eleanor's  face 
every  night  after  they  had  left  her,  grew  visible  by  day.  On 
the  14th  of  March,  when  they  were  all  together  again,  Austin 
noticed  that  she  looked  anxious  and  pale.  Lord  Charles's 
wildest  Radical  sallies  only  brought  a  faint  smile  into  the 
close-set  mouth,  and  a  feeble  flash  into  the  great  gray  eyes. 
Austin  knew  that  the  time  of  her  monthly  pilgrimage  was  ap 
proaching,  and  did  not  wonder ;  the  others  thought  she  was 
ill.  Lord  Edward  formed  a  theory  of  her  having  caught  cold 
at  church,  and  she  encouraged  it. 


186-  ^  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

It  was  Sunday  evening.  Lord  Edward  had  gone  with  her 
to  the  Abbey,  and  the  two  sinners,  Lord  Charles  and  Austin, 
had  not  gone  with  them.  They  were  spending  the  evening  at 
her  house,  and  laying  out  plans  for  the  next  week.  There 
would  be  no  important  debate  the  next  night ;  and  Lord 
Charles  said  that  if  Eleanor  would  promise  to  give  a  supper 
afterwards,  that  he  would  go  down  to  the  House,  and  speak  on 
the  Silk  question  ;  but  she  said,  — 

"You  must  not  come  here  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day. 
Austin  knows  that  I  cannot  receive  to-morrow.  I  have  to 
meet  my  man  of  business  to-morrow,  and  that  always  agitates 
me  so  that  I  am  fit  for  nothing  the  next  day.  If  any  of  you 
are  going  to  be  kind,  you  may  call  on  Tuesday,  and  ask  how  I 
am,  but  I  cannot  receive  you.  I  have  passed  a  very  happy 
month.  If  we  four  young  people  should  never  pass  such  an 
other  together,  let  us  always  look  back  on  this  one.  Good 
night." 

The  next  month  was  not  such  a  pleasant  one  by  any  means. 
Politics  were  becoming  embroiled.  Mr.  Disraeli  was  saying 
the  most  terrible  things,  and  Sir  Robert's  temper  was  not  al 
ways  equal  to  bearing  them.  Every  one  was  getting  hot  and 
angry,  and  saying  things  they  did  not  mean.  And  Austin, 
having  less  to  do  with  the  matter  than  most  others,  was  rather 
hotter  and  angrier  than  anybody  else.  They  saw  but  little  of 
Eleanor,  and  she  for  her  part  wished  that  the  corn-bill  was 
done  with  forever,  either  one  way  or  another. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 


So  little  did  Austin  think  about  the  matter  which  had 
troubled  him  before,  that  the  day  of  Eleanor's  monthly  pil 
grimage  would  have  passed  by  altogether  without  his  having 
noticed  it,  had  it  not  been  for  a  mere  accident,  the  history  of 
which  is  this. 

Austin  had  a  very  good  habit  of  riding  out  early  in  the 
morning  before  the  streets  were  full,  and  the  smoke  had  set 
tled  down  ;  and  on  the  15th  of  April  he  woke  early,  and  said 
that  he  would  ride  out. 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  when  his  servant  came  he  ordered 
his  horse  to  be  saddled  while  he  dressed,  and  called  "  Robin." 

The  servant  called  "  Robin  "  too,  but  Robin  was  not  in  his 
usual  place  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  on  further  search  it 
became  evident  that  Robin  was  not  in  the  house,  nor  in  the 
street  either. 

"  I  brought  him  in  last  night,"  said  Austin.  "  Run  round 
to  Miss  Hilton's,  and  see  if  he  is  there." 

By  the  time  Austin  had  done  dressing,  and  was  standing  on 
the  doorstep,  in  a  pair  of  yellow  riding-trousers,  and  a  blue 
neckcloth,  his  man  came  back.  The  dog  was  not  there.  It 
became  evident  that  the  dog  wras  stolen. 

Austin  was  vexed  and  irresolute.  At  last  a  foolish  scullion- 
wench,  in  the  lower  regions,  incautiously  volunteered  informa 
tion.  Austin's  servants  immediately  claimed  that  she  should 
be  haled  before  him,  and  interrogated. 

She  came  up-stairs  in  pattens,  with  a  mop  in  her  hand,  her 
hair  all  tumbled  and  tangled  in  a  dreadful  fright.  Austin's 
valet  offered  to  hold  her  mop  for  her  :  she  refused.  He  tried 
to  take  it  from  her  ;  she  fought  him  and  beat  him,  and  was 
ushered  into  Austin's  presence,  red,  triumphant,  with  her  mop 
in  her  hand. 


188    /  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

Her  mysterious  communication  about  the  dog  amounted  to 
very  little  indeed.  She  had  found  the  dog  scratching  at  the 
door,  and  had  let  him  out  for  a  run,  "  Which  the  Milk  had 
seen  her." 

"  Find  the  policeman,  and  tell  him,"  said  Austin ;  "  as  I 
come  home  I  will  ride  round  by  James's." 

Riding  about  the  west  end  of  London  before  nine  o'clock  on 
an  April  morning  is  a  very  pleasant  pastime.  The  streets  are 
nearly  empty,  and  you  can  dawdle  as  much  as  you  like,  while 
in  Piccadilly  and  such  places  the  air  —  should  the  wind  have 
anything  of  welt  in  it  —  is  as  fresh  as  it  is  in  the  country. 
Everybody's  horses  are  out  exercising,  too,  and  you  can  see 
their  legs,  eyes,  tails,  and  noses  showing  out  of  their  clothes,  and 
may,  if  you  like,  drive  yourself  mad  by  calculating  on  the  "  ex 
pede  Herculem"  plan,  —  by  an  effort  of  comparative  anatomy 
far  beyond  Owen,  —  what  sort  of  horses  they  are,  and  how 
much  they  are  worth  apiece.  You  can  also  see  the  British 
cabman  free  from  the  cares  of  office,  and  many  other  strange 
sights  not  to  be  met  with  later  in  the  day. 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  ride  that  Austin  had  on  this  spring 
morning.  He  rode  slowly  over  the  piece  of  wood  pavement 
between  Sackville  Street  and  Bond  Street,  and  then  trotted 
till  he  came  to  the  small  patch  opposite  Devonshire  House 
(both  these  are  laid  down  in  good  granite  now),  where  there 
was  a  horse  down  as  usual.  Then  he  walked  slowly  down  the 
hill,  and,  turning  into  the  newly  opened  park,  had  a  gallop 
along  Rotten  Row,  and,  passing  out  by  Kensington  Gate, 
began  to  feel  his  way  slowly  eastward  once  more. 

Through  fresh  squares,  where  the  lilac  was  already  bud 
ding,  through  squares  and  streets  which  grew  grander  and 
grander,  till  they  culminated  in  Belgrave  Square  itself,  and 
then  into  the  lower  part  of  the  town  which  lies  southeast 
of  it. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  ,  189 

It  is  astonishing  how  rapidly  the  town  degenerates  to  the 
southeast  of  Belgrave  Square  towards  Vauxhall  Bridge ;  or, 
to  be  more  correct,  did  degenerate,  in  those  days.  From  great 
mansions  you  suddenly  find  yourself  among  ten-roomed  houses. 
So  you  rapidly  deteriorate  to  six  rooms,  to  four,  to  old  bank 
rupt  show-vans  taken  off  their  wheels,  and  moved  on  the 
waste  ground,  like  old  worn-out  hulks ;  and  after  them,  dust 
and  ashes,  and  old  paper-hangings,  and  piles  of  lath  and  plas 
ter,  and  pots  and  kettles,  and  swarms  of  wild  children,  to 
whom  this  waste  of  ash-heaps  are  mountains,  and  the  stagnant 
fever-pools,  lakes,  —  who  build  here  for  themselves  the  fairy 
castles  of  childhood,  with  potsherds  and  oyster-shells,  and  who 
seem  to  enjoy  more  shrill  wild  happiness  than  the  children  of 
any  other  class  in  the  community. 

Austin  paused  before  he  came  to  this  range  of  dust  Alps. 
At  the  junction  of  two  low  streets,  between  Vauxhall  Bridge 
and  Millbank,  there  stood  a  house  by  itself,  with  a  garden  in 
front,  and  a  leafless  arbor.  This  was  James's,  and  James  him 
self,  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  was  in  the  front  garden,  drowning 
some  puppies  in  a  bucket. 

As  Austin  reined  up,  and  paused  before  this  house,  the 
population  turned  out  to  see  the  splendid  apparition.  Such  a 
handsome  young  gentleman,  so  nobly  dressed,  on  such  a  beau 
tiful  horse,  before  half  past  ten,  wras  really  something  to  look 
at.  Was  there  never  a  lady  of  Shalott  among  those  busy 
worn  needlewomen,  stitching  behind  the  dirty  blinds,  who 
looked  out  and  fell  in  love  with  this  noble  young  Camelot  ? 
Who  knows? 

"  She  left  the  web,  she  left  the  loom, 
She  made  three  paces  through  the  room, 
She  saw  the  helmet  and  the  plume, 
And  she  looked  down  to  Camelot." 

Poor  things!      Sitting  there  feeding  on  their   own   fancies, 


190  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

month  by  month,  it  is  a  wonder  how  respectable,  as  a  class, 
these  poor  folks  are.  If  it  were  not  for  the  cheap  novels, 
what  would  become  of  them  ? 

Austin  drew  up.  Mr.  James  was  so  busy  drowning  the 
puppies  that  he  did  not  hear  him.  So  Austin  cried  out, 
"  Hallo  ! " 

Immediately  he  heard  an  unknown  number  (he  says  nine 
hundred,  but  that  is  an  exaggeration)  of  dogs  dash  out  of 
barrels  in  the  back  yard,  arid  choke  themselves  with  their  col 
lars.  Before  they  had  got  wind  to  bark,  a  sound  was  heard 
as  of  a  strong  man  swearing.  At  which  these  dogs  (number 
unknown,  Austin  saw  afterwards  thirty-five  bull-dogs,  and  a 
cloud  of  black-and-tan  terriers,  which,  to  use  his  own  vigorous 
expression,  darkened  the  air)  all  rattled  their  chains,  and  went 
silently  back  among  the  straw. 

All  except  an  invisible  small  dog,  who,  from  the  volume  of 
his  voice,  seemed  to  be  the  very  dog  in  the  "  Arabian  Nights  " 
which  came  out  of  the  walnut-shell.  He,  continuing  to  bark, 
was  audibly  kicked  by  the  strong  man,  and  Mr.  James,  having 
drowned  the  last  puppy,  came  towards  Austin,  hat  in  hand. 

Mr.  James,  a  great,  handsome  giant,  was,  and  is,  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  men  in  the  country.  He  was  the  greatest 
and  most  successful  cynoclcpt,  or  dog-dealer,  in  England,  and 
consequently  in  the  world.  If  a  Chinese  Mandarin  had  sent 
an  order  to  Mr.  James  for  a  dozen  fat,  blue,  hairless  dogs,  to 
be  cooked  for  a  fete  champetre  at  Pekin,  Mr.  James  would 
have  executed  the  order  by  the  next  mail,  without  winking  his 
eye.  Mr.  James  was  the  greatest  dog-fancier  in  England, 
and  I  am  exceedingly  sorry  to  say  that  Austin  was  one  of  his 
best  customers. 

I  have  hinted  at  Austin's  low  taste  for  dogs  before  this. 
With  all  his  high  political  ambition,  this  low  taste  was  one 
black  spot  in  his  character.  He  had  an  ambition  to  possess 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  191 

the  smallest  black-and-tan  terrier  in  England,  apparently  for 
the  delectation  of  his  groom,  for  they  were  always  kept  at  the 
Mews  with  his  horses.  The  groom  became,  to  a  certain  ex 
tent,  debauched  through  these  dogs.  Prize-fighters,  and  far 
worse,  used  to  make  court  to  that  young  man,  and  take  him  to 
public  houses,  free  of  expense,  for  the  mere  privilege  of  hand 
ling  these  wonderful  dogs,  the  largest  of  which  did  not  weigh 
more  than  four  pounds.  Austin  had  sometimes  given  at  the 
rate  of  four  guineas  a  pound  for  them.  Robin  had  never  con 
sidered  them  to  be  dogs  at  all,  and  had  treated  them  accord 
ingly. 

The  enormous  sums  paid  for  these  dogs,  and  the  fact  of 
their  being  regularly  stole  once  a  week,  and  recovered  and 
sent  home  by  Mr.  James,  had  ended  in  Mr.  James,  great  man 
as  he  was,  being  a  creature  of  Austin's.  He  considered  Aus 
tin  to  be  a  type  of  the  real  English  gentleman,  the  last  hope 
of  a  degenerate  age.  Consequently,  when  he  had  done 
drowning  his  puppies  and  saw  Austin  at  his  gate,  he  advanced 
towards  him  with  a  very  low  bow. 

"  James,"  said  Austin,  "  I  have  lost  Robin." 

"  What  o'clock,  sir  ?  " 

"  About  seven." 

"  Then  I  can't  let  you  have  him  before  to-morrow  morning, 
sir.  My  cads  were  all  out  before  that.  Will  half  past  eight 
to-morrow  morning  do,  sir  ?  " 

"  It  must,  I  suppose,"  said  Austin,  "  unless  he  comes  home 
by  himself." 

Mr.  James' was  much  amused  by  this  supposition.  He  said 
that  Mr.  Elliot  would  have  his  joke,  and  requested  that  Aus 
tin  would  dismount. 

Austin  did  so,  and  Mr.  James  called  for  Sam.  Sam  came. 
The  invisible  strong  man  before  mentioned,  —  a  young  man,  in 
his  shirt  and  trousers,  who  had  not  washed  himself,  and  who 


192  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

looked  like  a  prize-fighter  under  a  cloud,  —  which  indeed  he 
was.  With  him  came  Mr.  James's  own  favorite  dog,  —  a 
white  bull-terrier,  who  smelt  Austin's  legs  and  gave  him  a 
creeping  up  his  back.  After  which  he  went  into  James's  yard, 
and  bought  the  dos  which  came  out  of  the  walnut-shell  for 


Mr.  James  had  not  done  with  Austin.  It  appeared  that  in 
the  next  street,  towards  the  river,  there  was  a  dog,  belonging 
to  a  master  sweep,  which  Mr.  Elliot  must  see,  if  he  wanted  to 
know  what  a  dog  was.  Austin,  having  given  a  shilling  to  the 
obscured  prize-fighter,  who  was  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to 
wash,  mounted  his  horse  and  accompanied  Mr.  James  and  Mr. 
James's  bull-terrier. 

The  master  sweep  was  in  his  gateway,  and  between  his  legs 
was  a  white  bull-terrier,  exactly  like  Mr.  James's.  Mr.  James 
took  his  dog  by  the  neck,  the  sweep  did  the  same.  Austin 
called  out,  "  James,  I  won't  have  it !  "  but  it  was  too  late,  the 
dogs  were  at  one  another's  throats,  and  the  douce  respectable 
Mr.  James  was  transformed  into  a  shouting  blackguard ;  while 
Austin  found  himself,  in  spite  of  his  feelings  of  shame,  looking 
on  at  the  most  brutal  sport  in  the  world.  Every  man  who 
sets  two  dogs  to  fight  ought  to  be  beaten  with  a  good  thick 
stick. 

Whether  it  was  that  the  residence  of  such  a  great  cynoclept 
as  Mr.  James  had  debauched  the  neighborhoods  and  given  to 
it  a  tendency  to  keep  surreptitioufe  dogs,  or  whether  the  fact  of 
its  being  what  Mr.  Dickens  calls  a  "  shy  "  neighborhood,  with 
infinite  facilities  of  sending  all  dogs  to  play  with  the  children 
on  the  dust-heaps,  in  the  rear,  on  the  appearance  of  the  tax- 
gatherer,  induced  every  householder  in  the-e  parts  to  keep  a 
dog,  I  know  not.  But  there  was  a  dog  in  every  house  ;  and 
the  moment  the  sound  of  the  fight  began,  they  rushed  forth  to 
see  the  fun.  Some  leaped  out  of  the  windows  of  garrets, 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  193 

where  they  had  been  confined  for  their  sins ;  others  walked 
staggeringly  along  the  tops  of  walls,  bristling  with  glass  bot 
tles;  some  squeezed  themselves,  panting,  through  impossible 
places  ;  and  one  fell  into  a  water-butt,  where  he  paddled  and 
sneezed,  until  his  mistress  took  him  out  by  his  tail,  and  banged 
him  about  the  head  with  her  shoe ;  but  the  result  was  that 
Austin,  standing  there  on  horseback,  with  the  hope  of  stopping 
the  cruel  work  at  the  first  opportunity,  found  that  his  horse's 
legs  were  in,  as  it  were,  a  bath  of  dogs,  who  yelped  and 
snapped  and  snarled  round  the  two  rearing  combatants  in  the 
midst. 

And  then  suddenly  he  became  aware  that  his  own  dog 
Robin  was  in  the  midst  of  them.  Whether  he  had  dropped 
from  the  skies,  or  risen  out  of  the  earth  he  knew  not,  but 
there  was  Robin  —  his  own  Robin  —  going  round  and  round 
the  dogs,  and  through  and  through  the  dogs,  asking  this  one 
how  it  came  about,  and  that  one  who  was  getting  the  best  of 
it.  and  another  one  what  they  had  better  do  ?  Robin  —  gay, 
handsome,  rollicking  Robin  —  was  there,  making  himself 
agreeable  to  the  ladies,  giving  the  best  advice  to  the  gentle 
men,  under  the  very  nose  of  his  own  master's  horse,  not  having 
recognized  either  horse  or  master  in  his  excitement. 

Austin  heard  some  one  call  the  dog  by  name  behind  him. 
He  turned  round,  and  he  felt  sick  and  faint,  as  well  he  might. 

For  there,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  squalid  blackguardism, 
was  Eleanor,  —  Eleanor  herself.  She  was  dressed  in  com 
mon,  almost  shabby,  clothes.  Her  veil  was  up,  and  her  eyes 
were  red  with  weeping  ;  and  on  her  face  was  the  very  expres 
sion  which  he  had  expected  to  see  there  on  this  very  day  of 
the  month,  —  worn  anxiety,  grief,  and  shuddering  terror. 

She  was  standing  on  the  pavement  feebly  crying,  "  Robin ! 
Robin !  "  but  when  she  saw  his  face  she  cried  out,  "  Austin, 
Austin  !  come  to  me  ! " 

9  M 


194  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

AUSTIN  caught  Mr.  James's  assistant,  and  got  him  to  lead 
his  horse  home.  And  in  the  next  moment  he  was  by  Elea 
nor's  side,  and  Robin  was  bounding  gladly  around  them. 
She  took  his  arm,  and  they  walked  homewards  together. 

Poor  Eleanor  was  very  much  distressed,  and  agitated.  She 
had  her  veil  down,  and  was  crying,  and  Austin  gently  com 
forted  her.  When  she  had  partly  recovered  from  her  tears, 
she  said,  "  It  was  so  naughty  of  Robin  to  run  away  from  me 
after  those  dogs."  Austin  would  have  liked  to  ask  an  ex 
planation  of  her  appearance  there,  but  he  did  not  like  to. 
Eleanor  was  very  much  distressed  and  hysterical,  and  he 
wisely  held  his  tongue. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  very  much  inclined  to  be  angry  with 
her.  She  had  been  going  to  church  a  great  deal  lately,  — 
going  on  week-days  too,  —  and  always  to  what  he  would 
have  called  "  Tractarian "  churches.  Once  she  had  asked 
him  if  he  would  be  angry,  if  she  were  to  turn  Papist.  Now 
Austin's  sole  religious  creed  at  this  time  was  a  political 
hatred,  derived  from  his  father,  of  the  "  Catholics,"  and  never 
having  risen  so  high  in  religious  thought  as  Tractarianism, 
he  felt  a  nearly  equal  jealousy  of  them.  He  got  it  now  into 
his  head,  that  Eleanor  had  some  spiritual  adviser,  either  very 
High  Church  or  Papist,  who  had  persuaded  her  to  take  these 
monthly  journeys  in  this  garb,  to  this  neighborhood,  on  the 
grounds  of  religious  mortification.  It  was  by  no  means  an 
unnatural  conclusion.  He  was  inclined  to  be  angry  with  her, 
and  determined  to  argue  with  her  on  the  folly  of  it, 

He  was  very  much  inclined  to  be  angry.  He  had  very 
nearly  succeeded  in  making  himself  so,  when  she  pressed  his 
arm,  and  said, — 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  195 

"  Are  you  angry,  Austin  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  —  "I  mean  yes.  I  am  furiously  angry,  my 
darling.  How  do  you  think  that  you  can  please  God,  by 
appearing  in  such  a  place  as  that  where  I  found  you,  in  such 
a  dress?  Don't  you  suffer  penance  enough  at  home,  every 
day  of  your  life,  without  allowing  a  priest  to  bind  a  grievous 
burden  on  your  back,  which  he  himself  would  not  touch 
with  one  of  his  fingers?" 

Ah !  if  she  had  told  him  the  truth  !  She  saw  his  error. 
She  saw  that  he  thought  she  was  making  some  kind  of  relig 
ious  pilgrimage,  and  she  encouraged  his  error.  In  her  deep 
love  for  him,  in  her  anxiety  for  his  honor  and  fame,  she  en 
couraged  it.  It  was  not  so  very  long  after  this,  that,  sitting  at 
her  dressing-table,  she  noticed  that  her  hair  was  slightly  gray. 
She  put  down  her  brushes,  and  thought  of  her  foolish,  foolish 
falsehood. 

"  Austin,"  she  said,  "  let  me  get  to  heaven  my  own  way. 
Don't  talk  of  this  again.  If  you  were  sick,  or  in  prison,  would 
I  not  visit  you  ?  " 

He  comforted  her,  and  said  no  more  about  it,  and  indeed, 
after  a  few  days,  did  not  think  very  much ;  for  there  was 
much  to  think  about  elsewhere,  of  a  far  different  sort. 

The  tiresome  iteration  of  the  Corn-law  debate  began,  as 
time  went  on,  to  be  relieved  by  fiercer  and  fiercer  personali 
ties.  Honorable  members  were  saying  things  to  one  another 
such  as  they  had  not  said  since  1831,  and  have  not  said  since. 
In  the  House  it  was  bad  enough,  but  in  the  clubs  it  was  worse, 
by  all  accounts.  Honorable  and  gallant  members  at  the  Carl- 
ton  were  threatening  to  pitch  Right  Honorable  Members  and 
future  Chancellors  of  Exchequer  out  of  window,  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  Reform  Club.  "  Or  did  so,  in  at  least  one  in 
stance,"  as  Mr.  C might  say,  in  hedging  a  general  state 
ment  of  this  kind,  and  might  also  continue,  "  future  Exchequer 


196  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

Chancellor  not  pitched  out  of  window  after  all.  Honorable 
major,  threatening  that  same,  hereafter  apologizing  with  a 
certain  leonine  simplicity  and  honesty,  not  without  grandeur. 
On  which  occasion,  also,  we  find  that  leonine  major  savagely, 
and  with  feline  snarl  (yar-r-r  !  To  thy  Cairn,  Vermin,  lest  a 
worse  thing  befall  thee  !)  turning  on  a  certain  too  eager  jackal 
of  his,  a  Captain  Hertford.  Jackal  apparently  (judging  from 
infinite  annual  register,  and  newspaper  file  crudities)  without 
even  the  jackal  merit  of  cunning.  Only  merit,  apparently, 
having  teeth,  and  biting  nobler  than  he.  But  a  poor  thing  in 
jackals,  now  happily  passed  away  into  limbo,  forevermore 
let  us  hope." 

To  add  to  the  confusion,  in  this  same  pleasant  month  of 
May,  an  opinion  began  to  obtain,  among  those  who  were  in 
the  same  position,  of  knowing  but  little  about  the  matter,  but  of 
talking  a  great  deal,  that,  although  the  bill  was  safe  enough  in 
the  Commons,  it  was  not  safe  in  the  Lords.  This  caused  a 
great  deal  of  fidgety  irritation,  and  Lord  Charles  Barty  went 
about  (to  use  a  trope)  with  a  pan  of  burning  charcoal  on  his 
head,  threatening  utter  annihilation  to  his  order  should  they 
impudently  dare  to  follow  their  own  convictions. 

In  the  midst  of  it  all,  Mr.  Smith  O'Brien,  driven  to  the 
verge  of  madness  at  not  making  a  sensation  equal  to  his  merits 
(0' Council  extinguished  a  year  since  in  a  blaze  of  high-handed 
justice,  and  no  successor  of  sufficient  mendacity  and  talent  ap 
pearing),  conceived  the  noble  idea  of  refusing  to  sit  on  Saxon 
railway-committees,  and  got  himself  shut  up,  in  more  ways  than 
one,  if  the  reader  .will  forgive  a  piece  of  harmless  slang.  He 
was  rewarded  for  his  heroism,  by  appearing  the  next  week  in 
perhaps  the  best  caricature  in  Punch,  —  "  The  Naughty  Boy 
who  did  n't  care." 

Altogether,  in  this  month  of  May,  people  were  getting  un 
wisely  excited  about  this  Corn-bill,  and  non-electors  began  to 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  197 

stand  about  at  street-corners  and  discuss  it  in  a  loud  voice, 
which  is  an  ugly  symptom  in  a  close-packed  city  of  two  mil 
lions,  the  most  open  part  of  it,  a  mere  St.  Antoine,  not  cut  up 
east,  west,  north,  and  south  by  the  boulevards  of  a  paternal 
government,  anxious  to  remain  a  government.  People  were 
getting  very  much  excited  in  the*  House  and  out  of  the  House; 
and  what  would  have  happened  in  1848,  if  the  Lords  had 
thrown  out  the  Bill,  we  are  almost  afraid  to  think. 

In  the  middle  of  all  this,  Lord  George  Bentinck  got  up  and 
made,  what  we  must  all,  I  think,  confess,  a  most  terribly  telling 
speech  against  Sir  Robert  Peel.  He  unluckily  tried  his  hand 
o'n  a  proposition  about  the  admission  of  oats,  showing  a  degree 
of  ignorance  or  carelessness  almost  incredible  in  a  man  aspir 
ing  to  lead  a  party.  Mr.  Goulburn  went  about  with  him 
amidst  the  laughter  of  the  House.  In  the  discussion  which 
ensued,  Captain  Hertford  spoke  for  a  few  minutes,  and  suc 
ceeded  in  making  Lord  George's  case  worse  than  before. 
The  instant  he  sat  down  Lord  Charles  Barty  was  on  his 
legs. 

It  is  possible  that  the  House  was  relieved  to  find  the  quar 
rel  transferred  to  two  such  insignificant  members  as  Captain 
Hertford  and  Lord  Charles  Barty.  At  all  events,  they  ap 
peared  so.  Lord  Charles  did  not  speak  for  more  than  five 
minutes ;  he  did  not  speak  well ;  he  did  not  speak  like  him 
self.  His  heart  was  so  full  of  furious  animosity  against  this 
man  Hertford,  that  he  said  things  he  ought  not  to  have  said. 
He  insulted  Captain  Hertford,  and  there  were  cries  of  order. 
He  had  gone  too  far.  When  he  sat  down  again  beside  Mr. 
Huddersfield,  the  lawyer,  radical  member  for  a  city  in  the 
West,  that  gentleman  said  to  him,  "  You  have  gone  too  far, 
Barty.  That  man  will  have  you  out." 

But  Captain  Hertford  took  no  notice  of  it.  People  were 
saying  all  sorts  of  things  about  one  another  just  then.  Lord 


198  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

Charles  had  not  said  anything  about  Captain  Hertford,  much 
worse  than  what  Mr.  Disraeli  had  said  of  Sir  Robert. 

Austin  had  that  evening  led  Lord  Edward  Barty  up  into 
the  gallery,  and  they  two  had  heard  it  all.  When  the  debate 
was  over,  and  they  were  waiting  for  Lord  Charles  in  the  old 
place  under  the  end  of  Henry  VII.'s  chapel,  Lord  Edward 
said,  — 

"  Austin,  Charles  has  insulted  that  man.  He  will  have  a 
message  to-morrow  morning." 

Austin  said  he  hoped  not.  No  message  came.  And  then 
poor  blind  Lord  Edward  got  an  idea  into  his  darkened  head, 
which  he  acted  on,  the  full  effect  of  which  we  shall  see. 

We  are  obliged,  however,  to  follow  Captain  Hertford  on  his 
way  home  this  evening.  We  wish  we  could  take  the  reader 
home  in  better  company. 

If  any  one  had  been  able  to  see  in  the  moonlight  the  vin 
dictive  scowl  that  was  on  his  coarse  face,  they  would  have 
augured  ill  for  any  one  who  should  venture  to  thrust  his  com 
pany  on  the  Captain  in  an  obtrusive  manner  that  night.  A 
handsome  young  Frenchman,  either  not  knowing  or  not  caring 
what  his  state  of  mind  might  be,  came  up,  took  him  by  the 
arm,  and  burst  into  the  most  exaggerated  form  of  French 
laughter. 

"  Ha  !  ha !  but  Milor  used  you  sadly,  my  dear  friend.  By 
the  prophet !  but  he  laughed  at  the  most  sacred  beard  of  my 
own  Hertford.  Come,  let  us  shoot  him.  How  say  you,  is 
Milor  to  be  kill  ?  " 

Captain  Hertford  showed  no  outward  irritation  at  this  man's 
presence  or  manner.  He  answered  quietly  enough. 

"  Milor  may  go  hang,  rot,  anything  he  likes,  for  the  present, 
my  friend.  '  Commilfhut,  where  have  you  sprung  from  ?  " 

"  From  the  gallery  of  the  Imperial  Parliament  of  Great 
Britain,  where  I  have  been  listening  to  the  burning,  furious, 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  199 

and  yet  lucid  eloquence  of  my  friend  Hertford  on  ze  oat. 
'T  was  a  droll  subject,  but  '  nihil  tetigit  quod  non  ornavit/ 
like  Doctor  Goldsmiss  in  the  triste  old  Abbey." 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Commilfaut." 

"  I  will  not  when  I  am  dead  and  buried,  perhaps.  Till  then 
fool  I  shall  always  be,  dear  Captain.  Come  and  play  the  bil 
liard,  —  one  game,  —  by  dam  !  Only  one  game." 

After  a  few  moments'  consideration,  Captain  Hertford  said 
yes,  and  they  went  towards  a  billiard-room  near  the  bridge, 
which  was  still  open,  at  all  events  to  the  Captain. 

The  billiard-marker  was  a  rather  gentlemanly-looking  young 
man,  though  with  a  decidedly  dissipated  air  about  him.  Some 
day,  some  wise  man  will  write  the  lives  of  eminent  billiard- 
markers.  It  ought  to  be  a  very  interesting  book,  for  the 
lives  of  most  of  them  have  been  singularly  erratic  and  tragical. 

They  began  playing,  and  talked' about  indifferent  matters  in 
English  ;  but  after  a  time  Monsieur  De  Commilfaut,  having 
made  a  hit,  turned  to  the  marker,  anji  said  in  French  :  "  That 
was  a  good  stroke,  was  it  not  ?  " 

The  marker  looked  stupidly  at  him,  and  said,  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir  ?  "  M.  de  Commilfaut  repeated  the  question,  and 
the  marker  turned  with  a  puzzled  air  to  Captain  Hertford  for 
explanation. 

"  The  man  don't  understand  French,  don't  you  see,"  growled 
the  Captain  ;  "  go  on." 

"  I  perceive  that  the  pig-headed  brigand  does  not,  as  you 
remark,  understand  the  language  of  Europe,  which  is  a  charm 
ing  discovery,  as  we  can  now  discuss  a  few  little  matters  which 
I  would  be  glad  to  have  discussed."  This  was  said  in  French, 
and  from  this  time  the  conversation  was  carried  on  in  French, 
a  language  which  Captain  Hertford  spoke  like-  his  mother 
tongue. 

"  And  how  is  my  sweet  cousin  ?  "  said  De  Commilfaut. 


200  .       AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  She  is  a  fool,"  said  Captain  Hertford,  sulkily. 

"  Slie  is.  She  don't  appreciate  me.  Has,  in  fact,  refused 
me  an  absurdly  small  loan  of  nine  thousand  francs.  Eleanor 
Hilton  is  a  young  lady  of  incorrigibly  bad  taste.  She  pre 
fers,  for  instance,  you  to  me.  Can  anything  be  worse  taste, 
my  Captain  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  I  suppose,"  said  the  Captain,  wincing.  "  Women 
are  strange  creatures ;  they  will  sometimes  like  a  man  better 
than  a  monkey." 

The  Frenchman  was  so  delighted  with  this  elegant  sally  of 
the  Captain,  that  he  went  into  the  wildest  fit  of  laughter.  He 
gave  his  cue  to  the  stupid  marker,  sat  on  a  bench,  and  laughed 
till  he  cried.  After  a  time  he  took  his  cue  again  in  a  feeble 
manner,  but  before  he  could  strike  the  ball  the  fit  came  on 
again,  and  he  laughed  till  he  cried  again ;  by  degrees  he  be 
came  quieter,  and  went  on  with  his  game. 

"  But  I  am  glad  to  hear,  my  little  pig,  —  if,  as  you  say  in 
your  Parliament,  you  will  allow  me  to  call  you  so,  —  that  you 
are  at  the  best  with  this  infinitely  rich,  espiegle,  but  very 
obstinate  little  cousin  of  mine,  Eleanor  Hilton  ;  and  for  this 
reason  among  others,  that  since  she  has  refused  me  (by  the 
mouth  of  an  aged  mountebank,  whose  ears  should  be  served  up 
au  gratin  at  the  Devil's  next  dinner-party)  this  trifling  loan,  I 
am  at  this  moment  '  in  nubibusj  which  means  under  ze  cloud, 
unclassical  cabbage !  " 

At  this  moment  the  marker  broke  out  into  a  short  laugh, 
and  they  both  quickly  turned  on  him.  The  marker  ex 
plained. 

"  The  French  gentleman  has  played  your  ball,  sir.  I 
always  notice  that  too  much  talk  don't  do  at  billiards  any  more 
than  at  whist." 

The  mistake  was  rectified,  and  they  resumed  the  game  and 
the  conversation  still  in  French. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  201 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Captain  Hertford,  "  that  you  are  going  to 
mention  my  little  debt  to  you  ?  " 

"  His  little  debt !  Holy  gray !  the  wealth  of  these  islanders ! 
Forty  thousand  francs  a  little  debt !  " 

"  /  don't  call  it  a  little  debt !  It  is  mode  of  speech,"  said 
Captain  Hertford.  "You  cannot  get  blood  out  of  a  stone, 
though,  my  friend." 

"  Alas,  no  !  I  know  it.  For  this  reason  I  am  overwhelmed 
with  joy  to  hear  that  you  are  at  best  with  our  determined  little 
cousin  ;  that  you  are  about  marrying  her,  and  about  paying 
me  my  poor  forty  thousand  francs." 

"  You  will  have  your  money  if  you  wait,"  said  Captain 
Hertford,  sulkily.  "  I  shall  certainly  marry  her,  and  you  will 
be  paid  in  good  time." 

"I  am  sure,  dear  Captain.  She  has,  then,  thrown  over 
board  this  handsome  young  scoundrel,  —  this  Elliot  ?  " 

"No,  she  has  not." 

"  I  shall  watch  your  play,  then,  with  the  greater  anxiety. 
I  have  seen  him,  —  he  is  amazingly  handsome,  —  and  I  have 
seen  them  together.  I  followed  her  when  she  was  leading  a 
blind  Milor,  a  Sir  Edward,  and  she  met  him,  —  this  Elliot,  — • 
and  I  watched  her ;  and  I  have  had  my  good  fortunes  like 
another,  and  I  can  see.  And  she  loves  him." 

"  I  am  quite  aware  of  it,"  said  Captain  Hertford. 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  You  asked  me  to-night,"  replied  the  Captain,  "  why  I  did 
not  take  a  shot  at  Lord  Charles  Barty,  for  his  cursed  inso 
lence  in  the  House.  I'll  tell  you  why.  If  I. had  out  Lord 
Charles  Barty,  and  even  hit  him,  it  would  necessitate  a  slight 
seclusion  abroad,  and  the  leaving  the  field  in  the  hands  of  the 
enemy.  I  am  waiting  for  an  opportunity  of  insulting  this 
fellow  Elliot,  and  killing  him." 

"  Recommending  yourself  to  my  little  cousin's  good  graces 
9* 


202  AUSTIN  ELLIOT, 

by  killing  her  lover,"  said  the  Frenchman.  "  Well,  1  have 
heard  of  that  succeeding.  But  that  course  also,  my  friend, 
will  involve  a  temporary  seclusion  in  the  centre  of  European 
thought  and  intellect,  Paris  ;  and  our  cousin  will  be  left  to 
lead  about  the  blind  Milor,  and  will,  as  I  hear,  probably  take 
the  veil,  which  will  be  the  devil  itself." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Captain  Hertford.  "  If  she  was  got 
away  from  Elliot  and  his  confederate,  Lord  Charles  Barty, 
(who  would,  too,  were  he  his  second,  have  to  retire  also,)  her 
aunt  could  bring  her  abroad,  and  we  might  do  anything  with 
her.  Marker,  go  and  fetch  me  some  soda-water  and  brandy." 

The  marker  departed. 

"  Do  you  suspect  he  understands  French,  then  ? "  said 
Commilfaut. 

"  No  ;  but  one  can't  be  too  cautious.  If  that  girl  refuses  to 
marry  me,  I  have  a  secret  of  hers  which  is  worth  three  thou 
sand  a  year  to  me." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  Dear  friend,"  said  Captain  Hertford,  "  would  it  be  a  secret 
if  I  told  it  you  ?  " 

"  Why  no,"  said  the  good-natured  rascal  of  a  Frenchman, 
laughing,  "  only  remember  my  forty  thousand  francs,  or  I  will 
force  you  to  challenge  me,  and  choose  swords,  old  cabbage." 

And  so  these  worthies  departed,  infinitely  satisfied.  But 
their  interview  compels  me  to  call  attention  to  a  little  story 
which  I  have  to  tell.  And  which  I  will  tell  as  dramatically 
as  I  can,  so  that  it  may  not  be  dull. 

This  billiard-room,  where  these  two  worthies  had  just  held 
their  villanous  conversation,  was  at  that  time  the  nearest 
billiard-room  to  the  House  of  Commons. 

Austin  Elliot  was  exceedingly  fond  of  two  things.  The  one 
of  hearing  debates  in  the  houses,  the  other  of  playing  billiards. 
When  waiting  for  a  debate  to  come  on,  what  more  natural 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  203 

than  that  he  should  beguile  the  time  with  a  game  of  billiards  ? 
Still  more  natural  that  he  should  play  his  billiards  at  the  house 
nearest  handy,  so  as  to  run  off  at  any  time.  More  natural 
yet,  that  he  should,  with  his  hearty  manner  and  open  hand, 
get  well  known  there,  say  very  well  known  to  the  proprietor 
Perkins. 

At  this  point  in  our  narrative,  we  must  go  back  to  a  period 
ten  years  antecedent,  and  begin  all  over  again. 

When  Austin  and  Lord  Charles  were  at  Eton,  there  had 
been  an  agreeable  plucky  boy  there,  whom  they  both  knew, 
by  name  Mapleton.  This  boy  had  gone  to  Brasenose,  Oxford, 
and  from  thence  to  the  dogs,  horribly  in  debt,  disappearing  into 
outer  darkness,  having,  in  fact,  in  his  wanderings,  rambled  into 
that  land  in  which  policemen  and  low  persons  of  that  kind  have 
power.  It  was  a  sad  business,  —  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to 
forget  that  such  a  lad  ever  lived. 

But,  about  six  months  before  this  time,  Austin  had  received 
a  letter  from  this  lad  Mapleton,  out  of  the  Queen's  Bench, 
praying  for  help  for  the  sake  of  old  acquaintance ;  and  Austin 
had  gone  away  to  him  at  once,  with  his  good  heart  full  of  old 
school  recollections,  steadily  ignoring  all  later  passages  in  this 
lad's  life.  Only  reflecting  that  he  might  be  saved  yet. 

He  heard  the  young  man  Mapleton's  story,  he  paid  the  debt 
for  which  he  was  in  prison,  and  both  he  and  Lord  Charles 
promised  that  if  he  should  deserve  it  they  would  help  him  up 
the  ladder  again. 

At  this  time  it  happened  that  the  then  billiard-marker  at 
Perkins's  forged  Perkins's  name  for  £96  10s.,  and  got  the 
money.  He  found  this  so  pleasant,  it  being  vacation  time,  and 
billiards  slack,  that  he  begun  to  steal  the  billiard-balls  by 
twos  and  threes,  and  sell  them  in  Greek  Street,  Soho.  This 
thriving  also,  and  the  £96  being  capital  untouched,  he  stole 
Perkins's  cash-box,  and  absconded.  But,  remembering  that 


204  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

there  was  one  more  set  of  new  balls  left,  he,  so  to  speak,  mi- 
absconded  again,  and  came  back  to  fetch  them.  But  the  meas 
ure  of  his  sins  being  full,  it  fell  out  that  Perkins  met  him  on 
the  stairs,  and  essayed  to  arrest  him.  They  fell  down-stairs 
together,  Perkins  cut  his  head  open  against  the  umbrella-stand, 
and  the  marker  would  have  escaped  had  not  Mrs.  Perkins 
rushed  out  of  the  parlor,  stunned  him  with  the  hearth-broom, 
and  got  in  the  police.  After  this  there  was  no  marker  at  Per 
kins's  but  Perkins  himself,  who  pathetically  told  Austin  and 
Lord  Charles  that  his  tobacco  business  was  going  to  the  very 
deuce  for  want  of  a  billiard-marker,  and  they  both  cried  out, 
"  Mapleton,"  and  Mapleton  came,  and  stole  no  cash-boxes  ; 
but  passed  on  into  higher  walks  in  life  after  a  time. 

And  this  was  the  young  marker  who  marked  for  Captain 
Hertford  and  M.  de  Commilfaut,  the  night  they  had  their  im 
portant  conversation.  Add  to  this,  that  in  consequence  of 
five  years'  Continental  experience,  more  or  less  disreputable, 
he  understood  French  better  than  Captain  Hertford,  and  from 
old  Eton  recollections,  knew  a  little  more  Latin  than  M.  do 
Commilfaut;  which  made  him  nearly  betray  himself,  at  the 
Frenchman's  new  construction  of  in  nubibus. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  he,  only  now  the  poor  ghost  of  what 
he  might  have  been  or  what  he  might  be  yet,  but  with  his 
poor  weak  heart  full  of  gratitude,  took  his  post  in  front  of 
Cheshire  House,  very  early  next  morning. 

By  and  by  the  Duke  came  out,  rosy  and  fresh,  eager  to  get 
some  pure  air  before  the  smoke  came  down  ;  to  take  his  two 
turns  round  the  square,  and  his  look  in  at  his  stables,  and  wish 
to  goodness  he  was  back  at  Esham,  among  his  beasts.  Next 
came  Lord  Edward,  blindly  staring,  with  his  hand  on  his 
valet's  shoulder,  away  to  the  northeast  for  prayers,  at  Marga 
ret  Street.  Lastly,  Lord  Charles,  in  white  trousers,  tall, 
handsome,  and  gay,  going  one  knows  not  whither ;  ready  in 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  205 

his  happy,  youthful  vitality,  to  go  anywhere  where  a  gentle 
man  might.  Him  the  poor  billiard-marker  stopped,  and  into 
his  attentive  ear  poured  all  he  could  remember  of  the  last 
night's  conversation. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

ALL  he  could  remember.  It  amounted  to  this,  —  as  for  as 
Lord  Charles  could  understand  it,  —  that  this  billiard-marker 
had  heard  Captain  Hertford  say  that  he  intended  to  provoke 
Austin  and  shoot  him ;  and  that  he  (the  Captain)  was  as 
sured  that  Eleanor  would  marry  him,  as  soon  as  that  was  ac 
complished.  With  all  the  poor  fellow's  eager  honesty,  he 
made  a  game  of  "  Russian  scandal "  of  his  information,  after 
all. 

The  marker  and  Lord  Charles  Barty  played  at  Russian 
scandal  with  a  vengeance.  Lord  Charles  thought  that  if  he 
were  to  tell  Austin  of  it  first  hand,  there  would  be  a  furious 
outbreak  on  Austin's  part,  and  that  there  would  be  a  duel, 
in  which,  as  a  matter  of  course,  Austin  would  be  shot  stone 
dead  by  Captain  Hertford.  So  he  went  up  and  waited  out-: 
side  of  the  chapel  till  his  blind  brother  came  out,  and  told 
him  (with  Russian  scandal  variations),  and  they  both  agreed 
that  Lord  Edward  should  tell  the  story  to  Austin,  softening 
it  in  every  way ;  just  to  put  him  on  his  guard  against  quarrel 
ling  with  Captain  Hertford,  until  there  had  been  a  grand 
consultation  as  to  what  the  three  friends  were  to  do. 

Blind  Lord  Edward  performed  his  commission  (in  the 
Russian  scandal  way)  ;  he  contrived  to  make  Austin  under 
stand  that  Captain  Hertford  had  in  a  public  billiard-room, 


206  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  asserted  that  he  was  engaged 
to  Eleanor,  and  also  that  he  was  only  waiting  for  an  oppor 
tunity  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  Austin,  and  shoot  him. 

About  the  first  part  of  this  communication  Austin  laughed 
heartily ;  about  the  second  he  looked  very  grave. 

"  Edward  Barty,"  he  said,  "  surely  you  do  not  distrust 
Eleanor?" 

"  I  would  answer  for  her  with  my  life,"  said  the  blind  man. 

"  And  I,"  said  Austin.  "  This  Hertford  is  a  creature  of 
hers.  She  paid  his  election  bills.  He  knows  something 
which  she  wishes  to  have  hidden  from  me.  That  is  the 
reason  of  their  familiarity.  I  will  challenge  her  about  it, 
and  have  it  explained.  But  I  know  her  wrell  enough  to  know 
that  the  idea  of  her  marrying  him  is  preposterous,  mad,  not 
to  be  entertained  by  a  sane  man.  She  hates  him.  She  knows 
and  despises  him  as  well  as  we  do.  I  am  surprised  that  you 
should  have  even  repeated  such  a  report  to  me." 

"  Dear  Austin,"  said  Lord  Edward,  "  we  are  all  agreed 
about  that  part  of  the  matter ;  no  one  is  anxious  about  that ; 
it  is  about  you  that  we  are  anxious.  /  have  no  doubt  but  that 
Captain  Hertford  believes  that  if  he  could  get  you  out  of  the 
way,  and  get  Aunt  Maria  to  take  her  abroad,  that  he  would 
have  his  way.  He  believes  that  we  know  Eleanor  too  well. 
But,  old  boy,"  continued  Lord  Edward,  feeling  out  into  his 
eternal  darkness  for  Austin's  well-loved  face,  "  if  the  dog  shot 
you,  in  pursuing  his  villanous  plan,  what  would  there  be  left 
for  the  rest  of  us  but  misery  and  remorse,  and  impatient 
waiting  for  death,  that  we  might  feel  your  dear  hands  again  ?  " 

There  was  no  one  to  see  the  expression  on  Austin's  face 
now,  —  an  expression  seen  by  Captain  Hertford  two  years 
ago  on  that  face  at  Tyn  y  Rhaiaclr,  and  to  be  seen  by  the 
worthy  Captain  once  more,  —  an  expression  of  mingled  fury 
and  fear.  He  burst  out  with  a  snarl,  — 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  207 

"  Damn  him !  Is  he  the  only  man  who  can  shoot  with  a 
pistol  ?  What  sort  of  country  is  this  we  live  in,  that  a  dog 
like  that,  by  possessing  a  certain  dexterity,  —  a  dexterity 
which  a  Sikh  Soubadhar,  or  a  French  chevalier  d'industrie, 
could  communicate  to  my  own  groom,  —  should  hold  the  hap 
piness  of  us  all  in  his  hand  like  this  !  By  God,  Edward,  it  is 
shameful !  Nothing  to  be  said,  nothing  to  be  done,  but  by  the 
grace  of  this  low  blackleg,  who  has  the  one  accomplishment  of 
hitting  a  man  at  twelve  paces  with  a  pistol-ball ! " 

"  It  is  an  inevitable  evil,  Austin." 

"  It  is  not  inevitable.  The  land  is  groaning  under  the  sys 
tem  of  the  duel,  and  the  land  will  be  rid  of  it.  Curse  on  the 
fool  who  invented  it,  and  a  curse  on  all  fools  who  follow  it. 
Therefore,  Edward,  a  curse  on  myself;  for  let  him  beware,  I 
will  play  Best  to  his  Camelford,  —  mark  me,  I  will !  " 

"  I  only  know  this,"  said  Lord  Edward,  "  that  I  will  not 
have  it;  you  shall  not  go  out  with  that  man.  I  will  take 
measures  —  " 

"  Your  measures,  my  poor  Eddy,"  said  Austin,  "  would  only 
necessitate  my  blowing  my  own  brains  out  instead  of  his. 
Remember,  that  any  step  taken  to  prevent  a  meeting  between 
this  man  and  me,  after  what  has  passed,  can  only  end  in  utter, 
irretrievable  ruin  to  me." 

"  I  know  !  I  know !  alas,  how  well !  But  you  will  be  care 
ful,  Austin." 

"  I  will  not  go  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  man,"  said 
Austin,  "  my  anger  is  over  in  that  last  burst.  If  you  could 
see  my  face,  you  would  know  it." 

At  this  time  they  were  walking  arm-in-arm  round  the  gar 
den  in  Grosvenor  Square. 

"  See  your  face  !  "  said  Lord  Edward,  "  ay,  I  wish  I  could 
see  your  face.  Does  it  seem  strange  to  you,  to  know  a  man 
who  does  not  know  what  seeing  means  ?  I  was  born  blind, 


208  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

you  know,  and  ever  since  I  could  think  I  have  tried  to  com 
pare  the  things  I  love.  They  have  told  me  that  you  were 
beautiful,  and  I  have  tried  to  realize  your  face.  Sometimes  I 
have  thought  that  it  was  like  the  scent  of  violet?,  sometimes 
like  the  noise  I  hear  on  the  terrace  at  Esham  on  a  summer 
evening,  when  the  children  are  playing  on  the  village  green 
down  below ;  and  sometimes  when  you  and  Charles  get  wild 
over  your  politics,  that  it  is  like  the  mad  scream  of  Ernst's 
fiddle,  when  he  makes  all  the  muscles  of  your  back  tingle,  and 
the  nerves  about  your  face  quiver  again.  What  a  fool  you 
would  be,  if  you  were  blind,  Austin." 

So  Captain  Hertford,  by  such  talk  as  this,  was  removed 
millions  of  miles  from  Austin's  consideration.  But  when  his 
clothes  were  off  and  he  was  horizontal  in  bed,  the  inexorable 
Captain  reappeared.  And  Robin,  the  dog,  who  slept  with 
Austin,  got  impressions,  whether  of  thieves  or  fire  I  know  not, 
which  made  him  sit  up  till  morn,  and  pant ;  for  which  he  got 
his  reward  from  the  boot-rack  at  various  times  in  the  night ; 
but  still,  after  divers  more  or  less  dexterous  retreats  from  fly 
ing  boots,  he  sat  up  and  panted  conscientiously  until  morning 
dawned. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

WHAT  was  to  be  done  ?  Lord  Charles,  his  brother,  and 
Austin  all  consulted,  and  the  answer  was,  "  Nothing  as  yet." 
What  could  be  done  ?  The  very  slightest  motion  on  their  part 
would  bring  on  the  very  meeting  they  dreaded,  —  unless  they 
resorted  to  civil  protection,  in  which  case  there  would  be 
absolutely  nothing  to  be  done,  according  to  their  code,  but  for 
Austin  to  blow  his  brains  out. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  209 

Poor  Lord  Edward,  sitting  in  eternal  darkness,  not  being 
able  to  know  men's  faces  and  what  expression  accompanied 
such  and  such  words,  formed  a  project  which  no  one  but  a 
blind  man  or  a  madman  would  have  formed.  His  project  was 
this,  —  to  speak  to  Captain  Hertford  himself.  He  had  been 
in  Captain  Hertford's  company  three  or  four  times,  and  al 
ways  when  Eleanor  was  present.  He  had  never  seen  his 
cruel,  gluttonous  face,  and  he  had  only  heard  his  voice  ;  and 
the  Captain's  voice,  in  the  presence  of  Eleanor,  his  benefac 
tress,  was  not  so  unpleasant :  it  was  subdued  to  a  sulky,  re 
spectful  sort  of  growl.  And,  judging  from  his  voice  alone, 
and  pluming  himself  on  his  shrewdness,  Lord  Edward  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  not  quite  so  bad  as  the  others 
wanted  to  make  him  out;  that,  at  all  events,  he  would  try 
what  could  be  done  with  him.  I  must  tell  you  how  he 
fared. 

Captain  Hertford's  plan  of  operations  just  at  this  time  was 
most  certainly  nearly  the  same  as  that  which  he  unfolded  to 
the  Frenchman  at  the  billiard-table.  But  we  must  remember 
that  he  was  a  stupid  man,  whose  cunning  was  of  a  very  low 
order.  He  had,  as  he  most  truly  said,  a  secret  of  Eleanor's 
by  which  he  might  extort  money  from  her ;  but  when  that 
secret  was  known  to  Austin,  as  he  felt  sure  it  would  be  on  the 
very  day  of  their  marriage,  he  had  cunning  enough  to  know 
that  it  would  be  worth  much  less  in  Austin's  hands  than  in 
hers.  Moreover,  were  Austin  out  of  the  way,  and  he  safe 
abroad,  he  felt  sure  that  Aunt  Maria  had  still  power  enough 
to  scold  Eleanor  into  going  abroad,  in  which  case  he  hoped  to 
get  her  to  consent  to  marry  him. 

Here  is  where  the  man's  low  cunning  failed  him  utterly. 
Eleanor  had  always  been  so  gentle  and  so  kind  to  him,  for  the 
sake  of  what  he  had  done  for  her  and  for  the  power  that  he 
still  held  in  his  hands,  that  the  fool  never  dreamed  that  she 


210  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

loathed  his  presence,  and  that  she  hated  the  day  when  she  first 
saw  him. 

Eleanor,  in  addition  to  her  own  terrible  domestic  troubles,  — 
tangible,  every-day  troubles,  which  she  and  her  faithful  old 
footman  bore  patiently  together,  —  had  got,  from  her  native 
shrewdness,  a  terror  lest  Captain  Hertford  should  conceive  the 
plan  of  doing  exactly  what  he  was  thinking  of  doing  now,  — 
involving  Austin  in  a  quarrel,  killing  him,  and  getting  her 
abroad,  under  the  sole  protection  of  her  aunt,  whose  madness 
was  developing  day  by  day. 

That  is  what  was  the  matter  with  Aunt  Maria.  She  was 
getting  mad.  Her  fierce  fits  of  scolding  were  becoming  fiercer, 
and  sometimes  her  maid  would  come  up  terrified  into  Eleanor's 
room  in  the  dead  of  night,  and  they  two  would  listen  to  the 
dreadful  old  woman  scolding  away  to  herself  below,  as  if  her 
maid  was  present. 

Poor  Eleanor  did  not  know  which  way  to  turn  among  all 
these  terrible  apprehensions.  But  she  made  a  solemn  vow  to 
herself,  —  that  if  Austin  were  killed  and  she  forced  abroad,  that 
she  would  embrace  the  Popish  faith,  and  claim  the  protection 
of  the  good  Archbishop  of  Paris,  whom  she  knew. 

So  that  as  Captain  Hertford's  scheme  stood  at  present,  she 
would  have  utterly  wrecked  it.  But  Lord  Edward  Barty 
changed  the  Captain's  scheme,  and  it  was  never  put  in  execu 
tion.  Captain  Hertford  formed  another  one,  and  we  shall  see 
how  that  succeeded. 

One  pleasant  morning  in  this  May  month,  date  I  should  say 
about  the  12th,  Eleanor  and  the  worthy  Captain  sat  together 
in  Eleanor's  drawing-room  in  Wilton  Crescent.  They  were 
quite  silent.  Some  commonplaces  had  passed,  Hertford  had 
brought  her  some  Cape  jessamine,  and  she  had  thanked  him, 
and  relapsed  into  silence,  wondering  whether  he  had  anything 
to  say  ;  rather  wishing  he  would  go,  but  on  the  whole  taking 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  211 

rather  more  notice  of  Robin,  who  had  come  to  her  on  a  furtive 
visit,  than  of  the  honorable  and  gallant  gentleman. 

Her  regular,  rather  small  features,  had  become  somewhat 
pinched  and  worn  lately,  and  her  air  was  a  little  languid. 
Her  eyes  were  as  brilliant  as  ever,  but  her  mouth  was  more 
closely  set ;  and  altogether  her  face  was  more  marked,  and  she 
looked  older.  She  had  had  riot  very  much  of  artificial  educa 
tion,  but  she  had  inherited  a  certain  grace  of  posture  from  her 
mother,  and  I  know  not  how  many  grandmothers  and  great- 
grandmothers.  Every  attitude  which  she  put  herself  into  was 
graceful.  Her  present  one  was  very  so,  it  was  the  one  in 
which  one  most  commonly  saw  her :  sitting  in  perfect  repose, 
with  her  hands  folded  on  her  lap,  without  one  fold  in  her 
drapery  awry  or  out  of  place.  She  had  the  art  of  sitting  abso 
lutely  still  for  any  length  of  time  with  the  most  perfect  grace  ; 
and  that  is  a  most  difficult  and  rare  art,  and  also  a  most  useful 
one. 

It  puzzled  Hertford  on  this  occasion.  He  had  something  to 
say  to  her,  but  he  was  a  very  stupid  man,  and  he  never  could 
start  a  subject  of  conversation  without  assistance.  On  this 
occasion  he  got  none.  Judging  from  appearances,  and  know 
ing  her  as  well  as  he  did,  there  did  not  appear  the  slightest 
reason  why  Eleanor  should  not  sit  in  that  posture,  with  her 
hands  folded  in  her  lap  in  that  exasperating  manner,  for  the 
next  two  hours.  The  Captain  got  angry,  and  at  last  he  said  : 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Hilton." 

Eleanor  merely  turned  her  head,  and  looked  at  him  with  an 
expression  of  languid  curiosity.  She  changed  her  attitude, 
but  it  was  only  more  graceful  than  before.  Hertford  had  to 
go  on,  — 

"  There  is  a  knock  at  the  door.  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  it  will 
cut  me  short.  I  have  to  thank  you  for  your  extraordinary 
generosity  about  my  election  business.  I  am  grateful,  I  assure 
you." 


212  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  My  dear  Uaptain  Hertford,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  no  one 
could  have  deserved  my  assistance  more  than  yourself.  I  will 
always  be  your  friend,  as  long  as  you  deserve  it." 

The  door  was  opened,  and  James  snarled  out,  — 

"Lord  Eddard  and  Lord  Chawls.  That  gal  Susan  have 
dropped  my  best  cut  water-jug  and  broke  it.  She  were  a- 
washing  on  it  at  the  scullery  sink,  and  she  let  go  on  it,  and 
down  it  come.  Says  she 's  all  of  a  tremble  'cause  she  dreamt 
last  night  as  the  carpenter  she  keeps  company  with  in  the 
country  cut  her  throat  with  a  bevilling-plane,  and  buried  her 
body  in  a  old  saw-pit.  Drat  her,  I  wish  he  had."  And  hav 
ing  said  this,  he  departed,  and  banged  the  door  behind  him, 
while  Eleanor's  face  was  lit  up  with  a  smile. 

On  seeing  Hertford,  Lord.  Charles  paused  for  an  instant, 
and  consequently  Lord  Edward,  who  had  his  hand  on  his 
brother's  neck,  and  was  being  led  by  him,  paused  too.  A 
singular  pair.  Both  very  handsome,  singularly  alike  in  feature, 
dressed  similarly  from  top  to  toe,  and  yet  with  such  a  strange 
difference  between  them.  Charles  had  a  pair  of  bright,  hon 
est  blue  eyes  ;  Edward  was  stone  blind.  Looking  at  Lord 
Charles  first,  and  then  at  his  brother,  had  the  same  effect  as 
if  you  looked  at  the  well-known  face  of  a  dear  friend,  and 
immediately  after  at  a  sightless,  staring,  marble  bust  of  him. 

"  Miss  Hilton,"  said  Lord  Charles,  "  I  have  piloted  Eddy 
here  ;  he  says  you  will  take  him  to  church.  Do,  that 's  a  dear 
soul,  for  I  must  go.  Good  by." 

Hertford  had  risen  too,  and  when  Lord  Charles  was  gone, 
looked  towards  the  door ;  Eleanor  said,  "  Captain  Hertford, 
would  you  mind  stopping,  —  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  ?  " 
And  on  this  the  Captain  sat  down  again. 

The  bell  was  even  now  ringing  for  church,  and  Eleanor 
must  hurry  away,  and  put  on  her  bonnet ;  and  so  Lord  Ed 
ward  was  left  alone  with  Captain  Hertford,  and  Hertford  sat 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  213 

and  stared  at  the  blind  man,  who  groped  his  way  to  the  piano, 
and  began  softly  playing  snatches  of  sacred  music.  He  had 
never  been  introduced  to  Captain  Hertford.  There  was  no 
reason  why  Captain  Hertford  should  speak  to  the  brother  of 
the  confounded  puppy  who  had  insulted  him,  and  so  he  sat 
and  stared  at  those  sightless  eyes. 

Those  sightless  eyes  !  The  darkened  windows  of  a  house 
in  which  sight  lies  dead,  shrouded  in  grave-clothes  of  strange 
misconceptions,  until  the  dawn  of  the  Resurrection  shall  begin 
to  gleam  in  the  East,  and  the  dead  shall  rise  upon  their  feet. 
The  eyes  of  the  blind  are  more  awful  to  look  at  than  the  eyes 
of  the  dead. 

Yes,  more  awful !  The  eyes  of  the  dead  have  looked  (at 
one  time)  upon  the  earth  in  which  their  time  of  probation  has 
been  passed,  and  their  eyes  have  carried  the  outward  sem 
blance  of  their  fellow-men  into  their  soul.  But  the  blank, 
staring  eyes  of  those  who  have  been  born  blind  have  looked 
on  naught  but  darkness  from  the  beginning ;  and  the  soul  im 
prisoned  behind  them  has  only  groped  about  in  the  night  of 
its  living  tomb,  and  has  learnt  to  love  only  by  the  sense  of 
hearing  and  touch. 

What  a  strange  riddle  the  earth  must  be  to  a  man  born 
blind.  We  all  know  of  the  blind  man,  who  thought  that  red 
was  like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet ;  and  we  remember  it,  be 
cause  it  was,  in  some  sort,  a  good  guess.  But  think  what  a 
puzzle  the  whole  world  must  be  to  a  man  in  this  state.  Try 
to  remember  if  you  have  ever  awaked  at  night,  in  pitch  dark 
ness,  and  how  the  nibbling  'of  a  mouse  was  to  you  the  stealthy 
working  of  the  burglar's  centre-bit  ;  and  the  rustle  of  a  few 
withered  leaves  in  the  night  wind  became  the  fierce  crackle 
of  burning  beams. 

Try  to  think  of  a  man  in  a  chronic  state  of  misconception, 
and  do  not  blame  Lord  Edward  Barty  for  what  he  did. 


214  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

Living  in  a  very  small  circle,  under  his  terrible  affliction, 
with  few  hopes,  few  amusements,  his  source  of  information  the 
being  read  to  by  his  valet,  —  he,  laboring  under  the  conscious 
ness  of  a  want  of  information,  avoided  conversation  and  society. 
By  this  means  he  had  not  got  the  great  lesson  which  society 
teaches,  —  knowledge  of  the  value  of  words  ;  and  so  — 

And  so,  —  after  playing  at  the  piano  for  a  time,  he  stood 
up.  Captain  Hertford  sat  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and 
silently  watched  him. 

"  What  a  devilish  curious  thing,"  thought  Captain  Hertford, 
"  to  be  always  in  the  dark,  like  that  fellow." 

Lord  Edward  began  to  feel  over  the  nearest  table"  to  him 
with  his  fingers,  as  though  looking  for  something.  Captain 
Hertford  was  right.  There  was  something  very  strange  and 
weird  in  watching  the  long  fingers  wandering  about  among 
the  china  and  bijouterie,  or  what  not,  which  lay  on  the  various 
tables ;  something  very  strange  in  that  beautiful,  darkened 
face,  which,  with  an  instinct,  the  depth  of  which  no  man  can 
fathom,  was  always  turned  towards  those  white  hands,  which 
its  eyes  had  never  seen,  and  never  would  see. 

"  It  is  uncommon  curious  to  think  of,"  thought  the  Captain, 
"  but  that  fellow  has  never  seen  any  other  fellow  in  his  whole 
life.  There  is  something  very  horrid  about  it." 

There  was.  Lord  Edward  was  feeling  his  way  softly  round 
the  table,  towards  Captain  Hertford,  in  sightless  silence,  getting 
nearer  and  nearer  every  instant  with  his  long,  thin  fingers  ;  it 
was  very  horrid.  Hertford  held  his  breath,  and  felt  a  strange 
creeping  come  over  him.  One  of  his  big  hands  was  on  the 
table,  and  Lord  Edward's  long  hands  were  coming  slowly 
towards  it,  feeling  their  way  through  the  books  and  press- 
papiers  and  paper-knives,  —  and  yet  Captain  Hertford  kept 
his  hand  still  on  the  table ;  there  was  a  kind  of  fascination 
about  the  blind  man's  eyes. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  215 

At  last,  Lord  Edward  touched  his  hand,  he  took  it  up  in 
his,  and  Hertford  did  not  resist.  Lord  Edward  spoke,  and 
Captain  Hertford  listened,  listened  to  strange  words,  words 
which  at  first  made  him  sit  dumb  with  terror,  brave  man  as 
he  was. 

"  Feeling  about  in  the  everlasting  darkness  which  surrounds 
me,"  said  Lord  Edward,  "  I  have  come  across  the  hand  of  a 
man.  It  is  a  hand  which  has  held  a  sword,  and  used  that 
sword  at  the  gates  of  death.  It  is  the  hand  of  a  brave  man. 
And  yet  that  hand  will  soon  be  slippery  with  innocent  blood. 
It  will  be  the  hand  of  a  murderer  soon ! " 

Before.  Captain  Hertford  had  made,  up  his  mind  whether  or 
no  the  man  who  was  talking  was  a  madman,  as  well  as  blind, 
the  other  went  on. 

"  Captain  Hertford !  I  cannot  prevent  you  killing  Austin 
Elliot.  It  were  almost  better  that  he  should  be  dead,  than 
that  he,  with  his  feelings  of  honor,  should  live  on,  if  I  were  to 
interfere  and  prevent  you  fighting  him.  I  do  not  speak  of 
him.  I  speak  of  yourself.  I  know  that  you  have  laid  a  plot 
to  assassinate  him.  Every  detail  of  your  plot  is  known  to 
me.  That  rascally  gambling  cousin  of  Eleanor's,  that  Com- 
milfaut,  might  be  brought  into  court  to-morrow  to  convict  you 
of  a  conspiracy.  You  are  quite  in  my  hands  if  anything 
should  happen  to  Austin  ;  but  I  am  held  down  from  taking 
steps  to  save  him,  for  the  reasons  I  have  mentioned.  I  only 
tell  you  this,  that  if  anything  does  happen  to  him,  nothing 
shall  save  you.  If  you  were  ever  on  any  provocation  to  figlit 
him  after  this,  nothing  could  save  you.  I  am  in  possession  of 
your  whole  scheme,  Hertford  ;  now  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

It  seemed,  from  the  expression  of  the  Captain's  face,  had 
any  one  seen  it,  that  what  he  would  do,  would  be  to  take  Lord 
Edward  by  the  throat,  and  beat  his  brains  out  against  the 
wall.  All  he  said  was,  "Wait,  my  Lord, —  wait,  will  you? 
You  are  presuming  very  considerably  on  your  infirmity." 


216  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  Not  I.  I  am  quite  without  fear,  I  assure  you.  If  my 
life  would  save  Austin's,  I  would  gladly  give  it.  I  will  wait. 
Think  for  a  little,  Captain  Hertford,  and  tell  me  what  you 
mean  to  do." 

Captain  Hertford  saw  quickly  that  he  was  in  a  scrape. 
That  if  they  had  got  hold  of  his  conversation  with  Commilfaut, 
it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  fight  Austin,  without  incurring 
far  more  serious  penalties  than  those  consequent  on  an  ordi 
nary  duel.  He  felt,  in  one  instant,  that  his  plan  of  having 
Austin  out  and  shooting  him  was  gone  to  the  winds.  He  gave 
it  up.  Austin  was  safe  from  that  moment,  if  he  had  sense  to 
stay  in  England. 

But  Lord  Edward's  words,  coming  as  they  did  upon  the 
strange  fit  of  superstitious  terror,  arising  from  the  fact  of  his 
creeping  towards  him  in  that  strange,  silent  way,  had  raised 
a  very  mad  devil  in  him.  It  is  a  mere  silly  truism,  a  thing 
hardly  worth  repeating  to  an  intelligent  person,  that  bad  peo 
ple  are  never  so  cruelly  vindictive,  as  wThen  they  are  recover 
ing  from  a  fit  of  terror.  He  would  have  liked  to  revenge 
himself  on  Lord  Edward,  but  that  was  impossible.  But  — 

But  therte  was  Lord  Edward's  brother.  He  could  hit  him 
hard  there.  They  talked  of  enforcing  the  laws  against  duel 
ling,  but  was  not  P acquitted  ?  They  would  not  dare  to 

do  more  than  they  ordinarily  did  on  such  occasions,  if  he  had 
out  Lord  Charles  Barty.  The  young  prig  who  had  insulted 
him  in  the  House,  till  even  the  Whigs  called  order.  Now  he 
rapidly  began  to  reflect,  now  that  his  rage  was  turned  that 
way,  that  his  reputation  would  be  a  ragged  one  if  he  did  not. 
It  would  be  a  political  duel.  He  had  precedent  here.  Can 
ning  and  Londonderry ;  Wellington  and  Winchelsea.  Yes, 
that  handsome  young  dandy  should  be  scapegoat.  He  had 
brought  it  on  himself. 

And  also  Austin  would  have  to  go  abroad,  if  anything  hap- 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  217 

pened.  And  Messieurs  the  French  Officers  were  dexterous, 
and,  yes,  on  the  first  blush  of  it,  it  would  do.  So  he  spoke. 

"  Lord  Edward." 

"  I  listen." 

"  I  will  take  an  oath  to  you.  Austin  Elliot  shall,  if  he  be 
so  minded,  spit  in  my  face,  and  I  will  not  go  out  with  him, 
unless  he  corner  abroad.  Will  that  content  you  ?  " 

"  I  always  said,"  said  Lord  Edward,  "  that  you  were  not  a 
bad  man.  I  thank  God  I  am  right.  Let  me  call  you  my 
friend,  Captain." 

"  No,  I  will  not  do  that.  You  have  insulted  me,  and  in  a 
cowardly  way,  because  you  knew  I  could  not  resent  it  I  will 
not  meddle  with  you.  You  have  a  shrewd  tongue,  Lord 
Edward." 

And  before  they  had  time  to  say  anything  more,  uncon 
scious  Eleanor  came  in  ready  for  church,  and  led  off  Lord 
Edward.  They  went  to  church,  and  sat  like  two  stone  angels 
through  it  all,  until  some  one,  who  had  come  up  from  Oxford, 
played  out,  in  a  triumphant  hurling  storm  of  sound ;  and, 
when  the  last  echo  had  done  humming  in  the  roof,  they  waited 
together  at  the  bottom  of  the  organ-loft  stairs,  till  they  heard 
the  well-known  sound  of  his  wooden  leg  stumping  down  ; 
and,  after  an  affectionate  greeting,  carried  him  off  to  lunch  at 
Eleanor's. 

And  this  was  the  result  of  Lord  Edward's  interview  with 
Captain  Hertford. 


10 


218  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

IT  was  a  wild  week  this  which  followed.  The  "  non-elec 
tors,"  who  had  begun  by  merely  sneering  at  Peel's  tergiversa 
tion,  and  rather  laughing  at  the  Bill,  now  had  got  earnest 
about  it,  in  one  way  or  another,  and  were  showing  a  slight 
tendency  to  congregate.  The  more  intelligent  among  them 
had  found  out,  or  had  thought  they  had  found  out,  what  the 
intention  of  the  Bill  was.  The  great  fact  that  the  duty  was 
to  be  reduced  at  once  from  sixteen  to  four  shillings  was 
enough  to  excite  them  somewhat,  for  bread  was  dear.  Their 
excitement  was  over  pretty  much  on  Saturday  morning,  when 
the  Bill  was  passed,  though,  as  far  as  this  story  is  con 
cerned,  the  Corn-bill  was  never  passed  at  all.  It  was  read 
a  third  time  at  four  on  Saturday  morning,  but,  before  we 
come  to  that  period,  we  shall  not  be  thinking  much  about 
corn-bills. 

Austin  was  in  a  very  vexed  and  excited  state  that  week,  and 
he  said  it  was  the  Bill,  —  nay,  more,  he  actually  believed  it 
was  the  Bill,  with  which  he  had  nothing  whatever  to  do,  not 
even  having  a  vote  for  Westminster.  He  was  excited  and 
angry  about  Captain  Hertford. 

There  was  no  doubt  about  one  thing,  according  to  the  code 
of  honor  of  those  times  :  Austin  had  heard  of  threats  uttered 
against  him  by  a  bully  and  an  enemy,  and  had  taken  no  notice 
of  them. 

This  consideration  was  driving  him  mad  all  that  week.  He 
felt  like  a  guilty  man.  What  would  the  world  say  if  they 
knew  all  ? — if  they  knew  that  he  was  in  possession  of  Captain 
Hertford's  language  about  him,  and  knew  that  he  had  not 
noticed  it.  It  was  terrible. 

"  What  would  the  world  say  if  it  knew  all  ?  "     Unluckily 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  219 

the  world  knew  a  little  too  much  ;  and,  as  to  what  it  would 
say,  Austin  found  that  out  on  Thursday. 

Lord  Charles  was  in  his  rooms  with  him  in  the  afternoon, 
and  making  or  trying  to  make  Robin  sit  up  in  a  corner,  and 
hold  a  pipe  in  his  mouth.  His  father  had  given  his  sister 
Minny  a  dog  on  her  birthday  —  a  spaniel  dog,  with  long, 
drooping  ears  on  each  side,  like  the  Speaker's  wig  —  which 
would  sit  up,  and  smoke  a  pencil-case  ;  and  so  why  should  not 
Austin's  dog  ?  Which  circumstance  shows  that  this  desperate 
young  Jacobin  thought  of  something  else  beside  the  salvation 
of  his  country. 

Austin  was  very  silent  and  anxious.  Whatever  he  thought 
about,  the  question  always  came  back :  What  would  they 
think  if  they  knew  ? 

Presently  a  man  came  in,  an  old  friend  ;  a  very  tall,  awk 
ward  man ;  a  man  who  at  Eton  had  been  a  long,  shambling 
lad,  whose  shoes  were  always  coming  off,  and  who  never  could 
be  taught  to  swim,  or  to  row,  or  to  do  anything  in  that  line, 
except  get  in  the  way ;  a  fellow  who  was  always  getting  his 
eye  blacked  at  cricket,  and  his  ankle  sprained  at  football ;  a 
fellow  who  was  always  top  of  his  form,  and  was  always  up 
half  the  night  doing  other  lads'  impositions  (or  whatever  they 
call  those  inflictions  at  Eton)  :  a  fellow  who  was  always  get 
ting  into  trouble  for  some  one  else;  who  would  have  died 
sooner  than  betray  another  boy  ;  who,  as  a  boy,  had  been  be 
loved,  reverenced,  and  bullied  by  every  one  who  knew  him  ;  a 
maker-up  of  quarrels  ;  a  pleader  at  school  with  masters,  at  the 
University  with  dons ;  a  high-hearted,  noble  creature,  whose 
shoes  were  never  tied,  whose  hair  was  always  tangled,  whose 
coat  was  never  brushed,  who  went  on  till  he  developed  into 
one  of  the  shrewdest  and  most  clear-headed  lawyers  of  the 
day.  Early  in  his  career  he  had  been  christened  "  Daddy," 
which  name  always  stuck  to  him,  and  will  stick  to  him,  even 
if  he  gets  on  the  bench. 


220  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

He  had  been  to  the  United  University  Club,  and  had 
heard  conversation  there  which  made  him  go  and  seek  Lord 
Charles.  He  had  found  Lord  Edward,  and  having  told  him 
what  was  the  matter,  had  heard  from  him  of  his  last  con 
versation  with  Captain  Hertford.  He  had  at  once  determined 
to  speak  to  Austin  himself.  Also,  hearing  of  what  passed 
on  that  occasion,  he  thought  that  Austin  was  perfectly  safe, 
or  he  would  have  cut  his  tongue  out  sooner  than  say  what 
he  did. 

"  Austin,  I  have  been  at  the  Club.  Charles  Barty,  attend 
to  me,  and  leave  that  dog  alone.  They  have  been  talking 
of  you  there." 

"Ay!"  said  Austin. 

"  Yes ;  a  certain  blackleg  bully  has  been  taking  your  name 
in  vain ;  and  they  were  wondering  why  you  have  not  noticed 
it.  I,  as  a  man  of  peace ;  a  man  who,  if  need  were,  would 
make  no  more  of  falling  on  this  man  Hertford,  and  beating 
him  myself,  sooner  than  that  anything  should  happen  to  you ; 
I,  even  I,  think  that  you  ought  to  notice  it.  Go  about  with 
this  fellow  in  some  public  place,  and  bring  him  to  account. 
If  I  did  not  know  that  he  will  not  take  it  up,  but  will  put 
his  tail  between  his  legs,  for  uncommonly  good  reasons,  I 
would  not  give  this  advice  ;  you  know  I  would  not.  Go  about 
with  him,  and  force  him  to  deny  what  he  has  said.*  I  will 
go  bail  that  nothing  follows." 

So  sadly  right,  so  sadly  wrong. 

"  What  has  he  been  saying  ?  "  said  Austin,  quietly. 

"Well  go  down  to  the  Club  and  ask  the  men  there.  I 
will  not  tell  you.  Well,  he  has  been  coupling  his  own  name 
and  Miss  Hilton's." 

"Indeed!"  said  Austin. 

"  Yes,  old  boy,  and  you  should  contradict  him,  if  only  for 
her  sake.  Don't  go  too  far.  Send  him  quietly  to  his  kennel, 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  221 

and  he  will  go.  If  he  don't,  send  him  to  me.  I  will  not  have 
you  talked  of  by  a  fellow  like  that.  Now,  good  by,  go  to 
the  Club." 

And  so  he  went.  Lord  Charles  rose,  and  began  walking 
up  and  down  the  room,  looking  very  grave,  as  soon  as  they 
were  alone. 

And  Austin  said,  "  Well ! " 

Lord  Charles  said,  "  Well,  Austin." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  about  it  now,  I  think  you  will  allow." 

"  I  am  afraid  not.  I  am  afraid  you  must  do  it.  God  help 
us.  All  this  that  Daddy  says  about  his  not  having  you  out 
may  be  true  or  may  be  moonshine.  Whichever  it  is,  you 
must  .tax  him  with  what  he  has  said.  You  may  have  to  go 
out  with  him.  However,  it  will  be  time  enough  to  think  of 
that  when  he  asks  you,  which  Daddy  says  he  won't." 

"  I  don't  care  which  way  it  goes  now.  I  am  perfectly  happy 
again,"  said  Austin.  "  Charles,  for  the  last  day  I  have  felt 
like  a  thief;  now  that  I  am  committed  to  the  adventure,  I  am 
myself  again.  I  ought  to  have  been  committed  to  it  two  days 
ago.  It  is  not  too  late  to  remedy  that.  Let  us  go  down  to 
the  Club,  and  talk  as  loud  of  Hertford  as  he  has  talked 
of  me.  My  reputation  will  be  right  again  in  ten  minutes. 
Wait  for  me  till  I  brush  my  hair." 

When  Lord  Charles  was  left  alone,  he  sat  for  a  few  minutes 
with  his  hand  on  Robin's  neck.  And  then  he  bent  down  his 
head  on  the  table  and  prayed. 

What  strange  kind  of  prayer  was  that  ?  Was  it  a  prayer 
for  guidance  ?  No.  It  must  have  been  a  prayer  for  mercy 
and  forgiveness.  For  he  had  made  the  resolution  to  watch 
Austin  and  Captain  Hertford,  lest  they  should  come  together ; 
to  insult  Captain  Hertford  himself,  and  go  out  with  him,  and 
to  save  Austin  at  the  sacrifice  of  his  own  life. 

Why  ?     Ah  !  that  is  hard  to  answer.     Some  natures,  how- 


-222  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

ever  darkened  with  regard  to  a  higher  system  of  morality, 
have  in  them  a  kind  of  dull,  blind  chivalry,  which  will  lead 
them  to  all  lengths,  and,  at  five-and-twenty,  if  we  can  remem 
ber  so  long  ago,  friendships  are  very  warm.  Why  is  Bill  led 
out  of  the  dock  to  ten  years'  penal  servitude  ?  because  he  won't 
turn  evidence  against  Tom.  Explain  me  the  one  thing,  and 
I  will  explain  you  the  other.  I  take  it  that  Bill  and  Lord 
Charles  Barty  act  from  much  the  same  motives,  only  that  Bill 
would  not  have  wilfully  compassed  the  death  of  a  fellow-creature. 
Lord  Charles  Barty's  life  is  a  more  graceful  one  to  write  about 
than  Bill's,  with  his  beer  and  his  skittles,  and  his  vague  notion 
that  the  policeman,  protector  of  society,  is  also  the  enemy  of 
mankind.  But,  ah !  what  a  poor  fellowr  would  he  be  who 
would  not  acknowledge  that  both  are  capable  of  most  chiv 
alrous  devotion. 

Perhaps  the  advantage  lies  with  Lord  Charles  in  this,  that 
he  would  actually  go  to  death  for  his  friend  ;  whereas  poor 
Bill,  were  it  a  capital  matter,  would,  after  standing  all  day  in 
the  hot  court,  staring  with  eager  eyes,  hot  lips,  and  lowering 
face  at  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution,  and  with  the  same  hot 
lips,  but  with  more  eager  eyes,  at  his  own  counsel,  —  after  all 
this,  I  say,  would,  in  the  end,  not  being  held  up  by  a  certain 
something  which  some  call  chivalry,  give  way  and  tell  the 
truth  for  the  sake  of  dear  life,  and  would  afterwards  go  away 
a  free  man  and  take  to  drinking,  and  drown  himself  ultimately 
in  the  Regent's  Canal,  as  the  only  solution :  which  we  can  only 
hope  he  will  not  find  to  be  an  eminently  unsatisfactory  one. 

Lord  Charles's  resolution  was  taken,  and  when  Austin  had 
brushed  his  hair  and  had  come  back,  Austin  only  saw  that  he 
looked  grave,  and  wished  that  he  had  looked  gayer. 

"  Come,  cheer  up,  Charles,"  said  Austin,  "  I  am  not  dead 
yet.  Faithless  friend,  you  ought  to  keep  up  my  spirits." 

Lord  Charles  smiled,  but  did  not  laugh. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  '  223 

"I know  why  you  can't  laugh,  old  fellow,"  said  Austin. 
"  Do  you  think  I  could  laugh  if  I  was  going  out  with  you  ? 
Come  on,  let  us  go  to  the  Club  and  kick  up  the  preliminary 
row." 

So  they  went.  At  the  Club,  among  the  old  University  set, 
such  few  of  them  who  happened  to  be  there,  Austin  expressed 
his  intention  of  morally  or  physically  pulling  Captain  Hert 
ford's  nose  to-morrow,  which  was  quite  satisfactory.  Lord 
Charles  slipped  away,  and  went  to  Captain  Hertford's  lodgings 
in  Pall  Mall. 

An  obtuse  maid,  being  inquired  of,  represented  that  the 
Captain  was  not  at  home,  that  he  had  gone  out  of  town  that 
afternoon,  that  he  had  gone  to  Malta  on  business  by  the  two 
o'clock  train,  but  would  be  back  to  dinner  the  next  day  at  five. 
This  being,  on  the  face  of  it,  an  impossibility,  in  the  present 
imperfect  state  of  our  international  communication,  it  became 
necessary  to  call  in  the  Captain's  landlord,  Runciman.  The 
King  of  Bootmakers  deposed  that  the  Captain  had  been  down 
to  Malsam,  the  town  he  represented,  to  see  if  the  other  mem 
ber,  Mr.  Nogo  (C),  would  be  well  enough  to  come  up  and 
vote,  and  that,  also,  the  Captain  would  most  certainly  be  back 
late  the  same  night,  and  that  the  maid's  story  about  his  coming 
back  the  next  day  at  five  was  a  fiction. 

The  next  morning  Lord  Charles,  never  for  one  instant 
flinching  from  his  purpose,  rose  somewhat  earlier  than  usual, 
and  having  dressed  himself  with  great  care,  and  after  taking 
a  few  turns  in  a  certain  passage,  knocked  at  the  nursery- 
door,  and  at  once  passed  in. 

He  was  greeted  with  a  wild  cry  of  welcome.  His  little 
brothers  and  sisters ^were  in  the  position  of  "being  got  up," 
and  were  strewed  about  like  rosy  apples.  Two  of  them,  still 
in  their  night-gowns,  were  dramatizing  a  scene  in  real  life, 
which  was  at  the  same  moment  enacting  in  another  part  of  the 


224  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

room,  —  that  is  to  say,  they  had  stripped  a  doll  stark  naked, 
and  were  washing  it  in  a  washhand  basin,  —  a  process  which 
(her  bust  being  of  wax,  and  the  rest  of  her  being  of  calico  and 
sawdust)  rendered  her  unavailable  in  her  capacity  of  doll  for- 
evermore.  Another  was  sitting  up  in  his  crib,  and  was  driving 
four-in-hand  to  the  "  Star  "  at  Richmond,  with  a  pair  of  list 
garters,  lent  by  the  youngest  nursemaid ;  and  another  was 
being  tubbed.  This  fellow  leapt  from  the  hands  of  nurse  to 
embrace  his  brother ;  but  seeing  the  door  open  and  the  way 
clear,  some  sort  of  devil  entered  into  him,  and  caused  him  to 
run,  stark  naked  as  he  was,  violently  down  stairs.  He  reached 
the  hall  with  great  success,  but  was  captured  by  a  solemn 
young  footman,  and  led  back  again  in  a  proud  and  vainglori 
ous  state  of  mind.  Half-way  up  the  stairs  he  bit  the  footman, 
who  hoped  that  his  Lordship  was  not  going,  to  be  naughty; 
which  speech,  being  addressed  by  a  very  tall  man  to  a  naked 
child  of  three,  struck  Lord  Charles  as  wonderfully  funny. 
Meanwhile,  above  stairs,  while  all  the  nurses  were  out  on  the 
landing  looking  for  the  fugitive,  Lady  Florence  held  a  regatta 
in  the  hip-bath  with  her  brothers'  and  sisters'  shoes,  three  of 
which  were  unfortunately  swamped  and  sunk. 

Lord  Charles  kissed  them  all.  His  brother  George  was  at 
Eton,  and  his  eldest  brother,  Lord  Wargrave,  in  Italy ;  so 
nothing  remained  but  to  see  his  father  and  mother. 

His  father  was  in  high  feather.  Lord  (somebody  or  an 
other)  had  accepted  his  offer  for  a  certain  mare.  She  had 
been  sent  home,  and  he  incited  Lord  Charles  to  come  down  to 

» 

Esham  on  a  secret  journey  with  him,  and  see  her.  Lord 
Charles  pleaded  the  debate,  and  his  father  wondered  whether 
poor  Edward  would  like  to  come.  At  all  events,  he  might  get 
some  flowers  from  the  gardener,  and  give  them  to  that  quiet 
little  girl  that  his  friend  Elliot  was  going  to  marry.  That  girl 
seemed  very  kind  to  Edward  ;  his  mother  said  she  was  a  good 
little  body,  and  so  on. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  225 

His  mother  was  in  her  dressing-room.  He  did  not  trust 
himself  much  here.  He  said  he  had  come  to  wish  her  "  good 
morning."  He  kissed  her  and  left  her. 

He  asked  the  servants  where  was  his  brother  Edward.  His 
Lordship  had  gone  to  church.  It  was  as  well.  He  left  his 
father's  house  —  a  house  of  order,  domestic  love,  of  old  renown 
and  of  chivalrous  honor  —  to  pursue  his  adventure  with  a 
worthless  bully.  When  he  thought  of  what  that  house  might 
be  by  this  time  to-morrow,  he  grew  sick,  but  he  never  flinched. 

Was  it  ridiculous  and  out  of  place,  that  even  now  he  should 
go  round  to  the  stables,  to  have  a  look  at  the  horses,  and  to 
speak  a  word  with  the  men  ?  It  was  not  very  absurd  in  him. 
In  his  father's  house  the  servants  took  rank  after  the  children. 
The  servants  were  all  from  the  estates.  Forgiveness  was 
extended  till  seventy  times  seven,  and  discharges  for  miscon 
duct  were  very  rare  ;  generally  attended  with  utter  despair  on 
the  part  of  the  culprit,  and  with  tears  and  a  temporary  seclu 
sion  on  the  part  of  the  Duchess.  No ;  on  the  whole  there  was 
nothing  ridiculous  in  his  visiting  the  stables. 

He  went  into  every  stall,  and  he  spoke  to  every  man  and 
boy  there.  He  was  the  favorite  of  the  family.  He  never  re 
buked  but  gently,  and  he  always  stood  in  the  breach  between 
the  culprit  and  his  father's  anger,  to  the  very  last.  People 
who  know  about  these  things  say,  that  in  some  large  old- 
fashioned  establishments  of  this  kind,  there  is  a  certain  de 
voted  affection  which  arises  between  master  and  servant,  quite 
apart  from  interest.  One  would  fancy  that  such  a  thing  was 
quite  possible.  One  has  known  of  convict  s'ervants  risking 
their  lives  for  a  good  master  ;  is  such  a  thing  impossible  among 
footmen  and  grooms  ?  Or  is  Jenkins,  selfish,  cowardly,  and 
effeminate,  to  go  down  to  posterity  as  the  type,  instead  of  the 
exception,  —  merely  because  his  master  dresses  him  like  a 
Tom-fool  ? 

10*  o 


226  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

We  know  not.  "We  only  know  that  these  servants  were 
glad  to  see  Lord  Charles,  and  that  he  was,  in  his  way,  wishing 
them  "  good  by  "  ;  for  at  this  time  he  believed  that  he  would 
never  see  them  again.  He  ordered  the  man  who  was  sup 
posed  to  have  the  care  of  his  person,  to  bring  his  cab  to  Mr. 
Elliot's  lodgings  at  four,  and  then  he  went  back  to  Captain 
Hertford's. 

The  Captain  had  come  back  late  last  night,  but  was  gone 
out  early  that  morning.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
go  on  to  Austin's,  and  keep  him  in  sight  all  day.  But  Austin 
was  gone  out  too :  his  servant  did  not  know  where. 

So  Lord  Charles  got  breakfast  at  his  club,  and  waited 
impatiently.  These  two  men  might  meet.  Austin  might 
have  gone  in  search  of  Captain  Hertford.  Men  came  and 
talked  to  him.  There  was  very  little  doubt  that  the  Corn- 
bill  would  pass  that  night;  there  would  be  a  long,  fractious 
debate,  an  iteration  of  every  argument  on  both  sides,  but  it 
would  be  read.  Not  that  Lord  Charles  cared  much  about 
it  now. 

And  where  was  Austin  ?  He  had  come  home,  and,  going 
to  bed,  had  asked  for  Robin,  his  dog.  Miss  Hilton's  servant, 
old  James,  had  called  and  fetched  Robin  away  that  evening. 
Miss  Hilton's  footman  had  reported,  in  the  course  of  conver 
sation,  that  one  of  Miss  Hilton's  maids  had  lit  a  bit  of  fire 
in  old  Miss  Hilton's  room,  with  the  register  down,  and  finding 
the  room  full  of  smoke,  had  run  through  the  streets  bare 
headed,  raising  the  town,  till  she  fell  down  in  a  dead  faint 
at  the  engine-house  door. 

Austin  knew  that  the  next  day  was  the  day  of  Eleanor's 
monthly  pilgrimage  ;  if  any  one  had  told  him  that  he  meant 
to  watch  her,  he  would  probably  have  struck  him.  And  yet, 
in  his  feverish  state  of  mind,  he  went  down  early  next  morn 
ing,  and  looked  at  Mr.  James's  dogs. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  227 

He  was  in  that  worthy's  front  garden,  listening  to  that 
worthy's  platitudes  with  a  deaf  ear,  when  he  saw  his  own 
dog,  Robin,  come  bounding  out  of  a  by-street,  from  the  di 
rection  of  Millbank,  and  hunt  a  hen  who  was  taking  her 
breakfast  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  He  watched  the  street 
out  of  which  he  had  come. 

He  saw  Eleanor  come  out  of  that  street.  She  was  lean 
ing  on  Captain  Hertford's  arm,  and  was  talking  eagerly  to 
him,  —  she,  who  was  his  by  every  tie  and  vow  that  could 
be  made,  was  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  man  who  was  seek 
ing  his  life,  —  she,  who  could  keep  a  secret  from  him,  could 
be  in  confidence  with  that  bully,  that  assassin !  There  was 
no  doubt  about  his  purpose  now.  Either  that  man  or  he 
should  die.  The  time  came  soon  when  he  got  his  lesson ;  the 
time  came  when  he  would  sooner  have  blown  out  his  own 
brains  than  fire  a  pistol  at  the  most  worthless  man  alive, 
but  the  time  had  not  come  yet. 

It  was  no  use  following  them  then  ;  Hertford  would  be  down 
for  the  debate  that  night.  He  went  home,  and  soon  after  Lord 
Charles  came  to  him. 

Austin  poured  out  his  furious  indignation  to  him,  not  only, 
alas!  against  Captain  Hertford,  but  against  Eleanor.  Lord 
Charles  only  continued  to  assure  him  quietly  that  the  time 
would  come  when  he  would  be  sorry  for  what  he  was  saying  ; 
that  he,  Lord  Charles,  would  go  bail  for  Eleanor  with  his 
life. 

The  weary  day  wore  on.  The  day  which  both  of  them  had 
looked  forward  to  with  such  hope.  There  was  no  doubt  that 
the  Bill  would  be  read  a  third  time  that  night,  and  the  Lords 
dare  not  —  Alas,  how  little  either  of  them  cared  for  the  Bill 
now,  or  for  the  Lords  either ! 

At  half  past  five  they  both,  by  tacit  consent,  went  down  to 
the  House  ;  Lord  Charles  to  his  place,  while  Austin  fought 


228  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

his  way  into  the  gallery.  At  this  time  affairs  might  have 
arranged  themselves  anyhow  ;  the  way  they  did  arrange 
themselves  was  this. 

Captain  Hertford  and  Lord  Charles  were  both  eagerly 
anxious  to  meet,  as  we  know.  But  at  about  ten  o'clock 
Lord  Charles  remembered  that  his  father  would  be  soon  leav 
ing  the  House  of  Lords,  as  he  knew  that  he  was  going  to  Lady 
Something's  party  or  ball  or  drum  or  what  not,  for  he  had 
heard  him  say  so.  He  had  a  desire  to  see  his  father  again. 
He  saw  Austin,  as  he  thought  hopelessly  wedged  in  the  gal 
lery  ;  he  saw  Captain  Hertford  sitting  sulkily  opposite  ;  he 
thought  that  he  might  safely  slip  out  for  five  minutes  and  see 
his  father  once  more. 

Austin  saw  him  rise  and  go  ;  he  saw  Captain  Hertford  rise 
and  follow  him.  Then  he  turned  on  the  crowd  behind  him  in 
the  gallery,  and  fought  his  way  out  like  a  madman. 

When  he  felt  the  cold  night  wind  on  his  face  he  found  him 
self  among  a  crowd,  a  crowd  of  all  sorts  of  people,  fidgeting 
and  talking  about  what  was  going  on  inside  the  House.*  He 
felt  puzzled  and  confused  among  so  many  fresh  faces,  until  he 
saw  a  policeman  whose  face  he  knew,  and  asked  him  whether 
he  had  seen  Captain  Hertford. 

The  policeman,  touching  his  hat,  said  yes  ;  that  Captain 
Hertford  had  followed  Lord  Charles  Barty  in  the  direction 
of  the  Peers'  entrance.  Austin  hurried  that  way  as  fast  as  he 
could  go. 

At  that  time  the  passage  to  the  Peers'  entrance  was  a 
squalid  sort  of  alley.  With  high  slab  palings  on  the  right, 
and  on  the  left  a  strange  wooden  building,  beyond  all  again  an 
archway.  On  the  left,  also,  was  a  high  wooden  screen,  perfo 
rated  with  square  holes,  which  represented,  unless  we  forget, 
Dr.  Reid's  ventilating  apparatus.  ("I  tell  you,"  said  Lord 

*  The  author  left  that  crowd  at  a  quarter  past  eight  or  so. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  229 

Brougham  once,  "  that  I  don't  want  explanation,  I  want  air.") 
Altogether  it  was  an  odd  sort  of  transition  place,  rendered 
more  untidy  by  a  low  railing  which  ran  along  one  side  of  it, 
nearly  half-way  across. 

Up  this  passage  Austin  hurried.  He  was  too  late.  He 
heard  voices  in  dispute,  raised  above  the  common  tone  of  con 
versation.  When  he  came  up  there  were  three  people  in  a 
group.  One  a  peer ;  Lord  Charles  Barty,  who  leant  with  his 
back  against  the  railings;  and  Captain  Hertford,  who  was 
opposite  him.  These  were  the  three. 

"You  have  heard  what  passed,  my  Lord,"  were  the  first 
words  that  Austin  heard.  "  I  have  told  Lord  Charles  Barty 
that  he  is  a  liar." 

"And  you  also  heard,  Lord  Sayton,"  said  Lord  Charles, 
"  that  I,  walking  up  here  with  you,  and  seeing  Captain  Hert 
ford  following  me,  turned  on  him,  and  without  the  least  prov 
ocation,  told  him  that  he  was  a  bully  and  a  scoundrel,  and  that 
I  also  repeat  my  assertion  now.  I  suppose  there  is  nothing 
more  to  be  said,  unless  we  intend  to  scold  and  fight  like  two 
costermongers." 

"  Well,  I  should  say  not,"  said  Lord  Sayton.  "  The  affair 
seems  plain,  though  I  am  devilish  sorry  for  it ! " 

"  This  quarrel  is  mine  !  "  said  Austin,  breathless. 

"  It  should  have  been,  by  all  accounts,"  said  Lord  Sayton ; 
"  but  you  are  rather  late,  ain't  you  ?  Do  you  want  me  ?  "  he 
added,  turning  round  towards  the  two  others. 

"  No,  thank  you,  Sayton,"  said  Lord  Charles. 

"I  shall  be  glad  of  your  assistance,  Lord  Sayton,"  said 
Captain  Hertford. 

"I  spoke  to  Lord  Charles  Barty,  not  to  you,"  said  Lord 
Sayton.  "  You  can  notice  that  if  you  like  :  you  will  not  find 
me  packed  in  the  Strangers'  Gallery  of  the  Commons,  when 
you  want  me!" 


230  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  You  shall  answer  for  that  speech,  Lord  Sayton,"  said 
Austin. 

"  Very  well,"  drawled  that  most  stupid  of  men. 

They  separated,  and  Lord  Charles  and  Austin  went  away 
together.  After  a  few  steps,  Lord  Charles  ran  back  and  over 
took  Captain  Hertford. 

"  Shall  you  send  your  man  to-night  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  better." 

"Send  him  to  Elliot's  lodgings;  Iv shall  not  go  home.  We 
shall  never  speak  again.  If  anything  happens  to  either  of  us, 
don't  bear  any  malice.  I  shall  see  you  in  the  morning." 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

LOBD  CHARLES  went  home  at  once  to  Austin's  lodgings, 
which  were  very  close  to  Captain  Hertford's.  Austin  per 
suaded  Lord  Charles  to  go  to  bed,  which  he  did  without 
much  persuasion.  Austin  waited  up  for  Captain  Hertford's 
friend. 

He  was  not  long  in  coming.  He  was  a  Captain  Jackson, 
whom  Austin  had  seen  before,  —  the  man  whom  he  had  seen 
before  walking  with  Captain  Hertford  and  Lord  Charles 
Barty  just  before  he  had  started  for  Ronaldsay.  He  had  been 
to  India  since,  and  had  come  home  wounded  from  one  of  the 
Sikh  battles,  almost  with  the  news  of  Feroseshah ;  a  man  of 
the  Indian  army,  a  good-natured,  gossiping  man,  a  great 
Shickaree  by  his  own  account.  Austin  had  listened  to  his 
tiger-stories  often,  and  wished  it  had  been  some  one  else  who 
had  come  with  the  message  now,  —  some  one  possibly,  with 
whom  he  could  have  picked  a  quarrel. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  231 

Captain  Jackson  began :  "  Is  there  no  way  out  of  this  mis 
erable  business ! " 

"  Do  you  see  any,  Jackson  ?  "  said  Austin,  eagerly. 

"  Well,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  we  are  determined  (utterly 
against  my  wishes,  mind  you)  to  go  through  with  it.  And  I 
am  sorry  to  say  that  we  (utterly  against  my  wish),  having 
been  insulted  in  the  House,  when  we  passed  it  over,  and  being 
again  grossly  insulted  to-night,  are  determined  to  have  a  public 
apology." 

"  That  is  impossible,"  said  Austin.  "  But  I  '11  tell  you  what 
I  will  do." 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  anything  much  to  do  with  it,  have 
you,  Elliot  ?  You  should  say  what  we  will  do." 

"  What  /  will  do  is  this,"  said  Austin.  "  Barty  is  in  bed 
and  asleep.  I  will  myself  meet  Hertford,  and  exchange  shots 
to-morrow  morning,  before  Barty  awakes." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  said  Captain  Jackson,  "  that  we,  know 
ing  your  nobleness  of  character,  have  anticipated  that  course 
of  action,  and  that  we  won't  have  it  at  all.  Lord  Charles 
Barty  must  apologize,  come  out,  or  —  " 

"  God  help  us,"  said  Austin. 

"Amen!"  said  Captain  Jackson,  sincerely.  "You  have 
never  been  at  this  sort  of  thing  before.  You  will  have  to 
leave  a  good  deal  to  me.  If  you  will  trust  me,  before  God, 
to  whom  we  both  must  give  an  account  of  to-morrow  morn 
ing's  work,  I  will  see  everything  fair.  You  have  no  pistols  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Will  you  let  me  bring  mine  ?  They  are  smooth -bored  and 
devilish  bad.  We  may  get  out  of  it  in  that  way.  Got  pass 
ports  ?  " 

"  No,  never  thought  of  it." 

"  Then  you  must  come  with  us.  Hertford  warned  me  that 
something  was  in  the  wind  yesterday,  and  made  me  get  a 


232  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

family  passport,  in  which  our  worthy  Captain  figures  as  Mr. 
Jones  pere,  and  Lord  Charles,  you,  and  I  as  his  promising 
sons.  If  one  of  us  is  taken  ill,  we  can  account  for  it.  Hert 
ford,  of  course,  having  the  character  of  a  man  rather  too 
ready  for  this  sort  of  thing,  wishes  to  stand  with  the  world  as 
the  soul  of  chivalry.  So  he  made  me  get  the  passport.  God 
grant  it  may  not  be  needed." 

"  God  grant  it,"  said  Austin. 

"  Once  more,  amen.     With  regard  to  time  and  place  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  propose  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  said  Captain  Jackson,  "  that  we,  hav 
ing  provided  the  aforesaid  family  passport,  are  more  in  a  posi 
tion  to  insist  than  to  propose.  We,  unless  you  can  bring 
strong  reasons  against  it,  propose  the  firs  at  Hampstead,  at 
half  past  seven  to-morrow  morning.  It  must  be  so,  my  dear 
Elliot,  or  we  shall  be  stopped.  The  quarrel  has  been  heard 
of,  and  the  affair  will  be  stopped  else.  If  you  oppose  an  early 
meeting,  your  man's  reputation  won't  be  worth  an  old  shoe." 

It  was  undeniable.  Austin  agreed,  and  the  Captain  de 
parted. 

Austin  went  round  to  the  stables,  where  his  own  horses 
were  kept,  and  to  his  terror  found  that  all  was  dark  and  shut 
up.  He  did  not  know  exactly  where  his  own  servant  slept, 
or  he  would  have  tried  to  arouse  him.  What  between  his 
terror  for  his  friend's  reputation  and  his  terror  at  his  friend's 
danger,  he  was  nearly  mad.  lie  was  at  this  moment  very 
nearly  going  to  the  police-office  and  putting  the  matter  before 
them,  but  he  dared  not.  If  he  had  done  such  a  thing  as  that, 
his  friend  would  forever  after  have  been  socially  and  politi 
cally  dead.  The  difficulty  now  was  to  rouse  a  sleeping  groom 
without  awakening  the  others.  Lord  Charles's  groom  must 
be  sleeping  with  one  of  his.  It  was  a  ridiculous  difficulty, 
but  it  made  him  stamp,  and  curse  the  day  he  was  born. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  233 

Luck  assisted  him.  A  man  came  into  the  mews,  and  as  he 
walked  aside  to  let  him  pass,  he  saw  it  was  Charles  Barty's 
servant.  He  ordered  him  to  bring  the  cab  to  his  lodgings  at 
five. 

"  Are  you  going  out,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  man." 

"  Yes,"  said  Austin.  "  You  must  be  secret  and  quiet.  I 
will  reward  you  well." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,  sir.  You  was  always  a  kind  gentleman. 
I  will  be  there,  sir,  punctual." 

Then  Austin  went  back,  and  going  up  to  his  room,  where 
Lord  Charles  lay  asleep  in  his  bed,  he  sat  in  a  chair  all  night, 
listening  to  the  long-drawn  breath  of  the  sleeper. 

He  sat  and  thought  all  night.  Ah  Lord  !  it  had  all  come 
to  this.  His  own  reputation  tarnished,  and  the  friend  of  his 
heart  going  out  next  morning  in  a  quarrel  which  by  rights 
was  his.  He  knew  that,  however  this  business  turned  out,  his 
own  reputation  was  gone.  He  had  had  two  hints  to  that  effect 
these  last  few  days,  and  both  of  those  had  come  from  men 
eminently  friendly  to  himself. 

His  reputation  tarnished !  Ah,  it  was  maddening.  How 
lucky  that  his  father  was  dead,  and  that  his  death  did  not  lie 
at  his  son's  door,  for  that  would  have  killed  him  outright. 
This  man  Hertford  had  been  taking  his  name  in  vain.  Austin 
had  heard  of  it.  His  own  friends  at  the  United  University 
Club  had  talked  about  it.  Austin  himself  had  gone  down  to 
the  Club  and  talked  threateningly  of  Hertford.  The  little 
world  he  lived  in  was  expectant ;  how  would  that  expectation 
be  satisfied  ?  By  finding  that  he,  Austin  Elliot,  had  allowed 
the  friend  of  his  bosom  to  fight  his  battle  for  him  ;  by  allow 
ing  Lord  Charles  to  go  out  with  one  of  the  deadliest  shots  in 
England. 

It  was  unendurable,  but  there  was  no  remedy  in  his  code 
of  morality.  Therefore,  although  it  was  unendurable,  it  was 
endured,  like  most  other  unendurable  things  in  this  world. 


234  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

But  his  own  disgrace  was  not  one  quarter  of  the  mischief. 
Suppose  anything  were  to  happen  to  Lord  Charles  ?  Suppose 
he  were  to  be  wounded  ?  Suppose  he  were  to  be  lamed  for 
life,  for  that  was  possible,  how  would  Austin  feel  then  ?  The 
cloud  he  himself  was  under  now  might  be  cleared  away.  He 
might  force  Captain  Hertford  to  go  out  with  him,  —  nay,  he 
was  already  determined  to  do  so.  It  would  be  necessary.  But 
if  his  friend  was  maimed  in  this  encounter,  he  felt  as  though 
he  could  never  hold  up  his  head  again.  He  determined  that 
if  any  one  proposed  more  than  one  shot,  that  the  shots  should 
pass  through  his  own  body. 

So  the  short  night  wore  on,  and  he  sat  in  his  chair  without 
sleeping,  trying,  from  time  to  time,  to  make  out  the  outline  of 
his  friend's  face  in  the  dark.  As  the  east  began  to  grow 
bright,  and  the  sparrows  began  to  twitter  outside  the  window, 
he  dozed  ;  but  he  must  have  wakened  again  within  half  an  hour. 
The  room  was  quite  light  now,  and  he  could  see  his  friend. 

He  was  sleeping  as  peacefully  as  a  child.  The  beautiful 
face  was  turned,  in  its  expressionless  repose,  towards  Austin. 
One  bare  arm  was  thrown  half  out  of  bed,  with  the  palm  of 
the  hand  uppermost,  and  the  fingers  relaxed ;  the  other  was 
laid  under  the  sleeping  man's  head,  among  his  close  brown 
curls.  It  seemed  a  happy  sleep,  for  he  smiled,  and  babbled 
inarticulately  in  his  dreams,  —  a  happy  school-boy  sleep  ! 
Austin  had  awakened  him  from  such  a  sleep  at  Eton,  in  old 
times,  more  than  once,  to  come  bathing  or  boating  or  bird-nest 
ing.  Pie  remembered  how  that  face  had  changed,  from  the 
half-unconscious  expression  fixed  on  it  by  some  happy  dream 
into  consciousness,  into  loving  recognition  of  the  friend  who 
had  awakened  him.  He  remembered  all  that,  and  knew  that 
he  had  to  awaken  him  once  more,  —  to  what  ?  What  expres 
sion  would  the  face  take  now  ?  What  kind  of  curse  would 
shine  out  of  those  eyes  as  soon  as  the  lids  of  them  were  raised, 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  235 

and  the  soul  behind  them  awoke  to  the  appreciation  of  the 
lamentable  truth  ? 

So  there  grew  on  poor  Austin  a  horror  and  a  dread  of  the 
sleeper's  awaking  ;  and  as  he  slept  on,  a  new  dread,  —  the 
dread  of  having  to  awaken  him  himself.  But  it  must  be  done, 
and  be  done  soon.  Now  there  came  into  his  head  a  something 
long  forgotten,  as  long-forgotten  trifles  will  come  into  men's 
minds,  at  times  of  awful  anxiety  like  this.  It  would  have 
made  him  smile  at  another  time,  but  he  remembered  it  now. 
He  had  read  in  some  blackguard  book  about  prize-fighting, 
that  the  men  who  trained  the  prize-fighters  never  awoke  them 
in  the  morning,  but  that  they  put  the  window  open,  and  that, 
after  a  short  time,  as  soon  as  the  fresh  morning  air  reached 
the  poor  fellows'  faces,  they  quietly  awoke.  He  remembered 
this  now,  and  opened  the  window.  In  a  short  time,  Charles 
Barty  turned  in  his  bed  and  awoke.  His  eyes  met  Austin's, 
and  he  smiled  affectionately ;  but  as  consciousness  came  to 
him,  that  smile  faded  mto  an  expression  of  anxiety,  and  al 
most  of  horror.  If  he  had  sat  up  in  bed,  and  heaped  curses 
on  Austin's  head,  Austin  could  have  borne  it  better  than  that 
look. 

But  it  was  late,  —  they  must  hurry  :  that  was  something. 
They  would  have  breakfast  when  they  came  back.  The  other 
people  were  to  bring  a  doctor  with  them,  so  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  to  drive  fast.  They  spoke  very  little,  and  on  indif 
ferent  subjects  ;  Austin  drove.  Once  Lord  Charles  turned 
round,  and  talked  to  the  groom  standing  at  the  back  of  the 
cab,  and  gave  orders  about  his  hack  being  brought  somewhere 
that  afternoon.  The  groom  said  that  his  father's  cob  was 
lame,  and  perhaps  his  Grace  might  like  to  borrow  his  Lord 
ship's  hack.  Whereupon  Lord  Charles  confounded  his  fa 
ther's  cob  (to  Austin),  and  wished  to  God  that  his  father  would 
find  -himself  in  horses,  and  not  be  everlastingly  borrowing  his. 


236  AUSTIN   ELLIOT. 

They  were  late.  When  they  got  on  to  the  heath,  they  saw 
a  dog-cart  standing,  with  a  groom  at  the  horse's  head,  and 
farther  on,  they  saw  three  men  waiting  for  them,  —  Captain 
Hertford,  Captain  Jackson,  and  the  doctor. 

They  hurried  forward.  Captain  Jackson  and  Austin  went 
apart,  and  matters  were  soon  arranged.  "  We  must  be  quick, 
Elliot,"  said  Captain  Jackson. 

They  were  very  quick.  The  men  were  placed  twelve  paces 
apart,  back  to  back,  and  their  seconds  gave  them  their  pisto.ls. 
Captain  Jackson  was  to  give  the  word.  Austin  and  he  re 
tired,  and  Captain  Jackson  said,  "  Gentlemen,  are  you  ready  ? 
Fire ! " 

They  both  faced  one  another  at  the  same  instant.  Charles 
Barty  raised  his  hand  high  over  his  head,  and  fired  in  the  air. 
Captain  Hertford  took  deliberate  aim,  and  fired  two  seconds 
afterwards.  The  instant  he  had  done  so,  Lord  Charles  leapt 
a  foot  off  the  ground,  and  then  bringing  his  heels  sharply  down 
upon  the  turf,  toppled  over  headlong  on  his  left  shoulder,  and 
lay  perfectly  still. 

Austin  was  beside  him  in  an  instant,  but  he  was  quite  dead. 
Austin  turned  the  heavy  head  over,  and  saw  the  last  sign  of 
life  which  appeared  in  that  beautiful  face.  Two  nerves  in  the 
hollows  beneath  his  eyes  quivered  and  throbbed  for  half  a 
second,  and  then  stopped  forever. 

If  I  were  to  pile  Pelion  upon  Ossa  with  grand  words,  I 
could  give  you  no  idea  of  the  catastrophe  more  terrible  than 
this.  Lord  Charles  Barty  was  shot  through  the  heart,  and 
was  lying,  stone-dead,  at  the  feet  of  Austin  Elliot. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  237 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

AUSTIN  had  never  seen  death  before.  This  was  his  first 
introduction  to  it.  He  was  holding  the  face  of  the  dead  man 
between  his  two  hands,  and  looking  down  with  a  strange  in 
credulous  terror  into  the  sightless  eyes. 

And  the  dead  man  was  his  friend,  a  man  he  loved,  as 
David  loved  Jonathan.  He  had  never  done  anything,  or 
thought  anything,  for  he  knew  not  how  long,  without  this  man 
coming  into  his  mind.  "  What  will  he  think  about  it  ? " 
"  What  will  he  say  about  it  ? "  had  always  been  his  first 
thought  after  he  had  done  anything.  Now,  now  — • 

The  two  others  were  with  him  in  a  moment.  Captain 
Hertford  said,  "  This  has  all  been  fair.  I  am  off  for  France." 
Jackson  broke  out  into  tears.  "  By  God,"  he  said,  "  this  is  a 
most  horrible  business !  I  wish  he  had  struck  me  dead  before 
I  came  out  on  this  accursed  errand ! "  But  Austin  said 
nothing.  He  was  kneeling  on  one  knee,  with  the  dead  man's 
face  between  his  hands,  and  a  claw  like  that  of  an  eagle 
griping  at  his  heart. 

"  We  must  get  away,"  said  Captain  Hertford.  "  We  had 
best  be  quick.  Elliot,  you  will  have  to  come  with  us." 

"  I  shall  stay  where  I  am." 

"  You  are  mazed,"  said  Captain  Hertford,  impatiently. 
«  We  shall  be  in  trouble  for  this.  Time  is  precious.  You 
must  cross  with  my  passport." 

"  I  tell  you  I  shall  stay  where  I  am,"  said  Austin,  looking 
up  at  Hertford  with  that  painful  look  of  mingled  terror  and 
anger  which  Captain  Hertford  had  seen  before,  and  which  he 
now  remembered. 

"  Then  I  have  done  my  duty,  and  must  go,"  said  Captain 
Hertford.  "  Jackson,  we  must  make  haste." 


238  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

They  left  him  kneeling  at  the  dead  man's  head.  In  a  few 
moments  Jackson  ran  back,  while  Captain  Hertford  waited  for 
him. 

"  Elliot,  don't  be  a  madman.  Come  away.  There  will  be 
the  devil  to  pay  for  this,  God  forgive  us  !  You  must  come 
with  us.  You  shall ! " 

"  I  shall  stay  here." 

"  You  are  mad !  Think  better  of  it,  and  come  with  us. 
Your  mind  is  gone  !  " 

"  I  know  it  is.     Good  by  !  " 

So  Captain  Jackson  went  reluctantly  away,  and  left  Austin 
with  the  dead  man. 

Lord  Charles's  groom  came  next.  He  touched  Austin 
on  the  shoulder.  "  Mr.  Elliot,"  he  said,  "  is  my  Lord 
wounded?" 

Austin  looked  up  in  his  face,  and  said,  "  Your  Lord  is 
dead  !  "  He  saw  the  man  turn  pale  and  sick.  Then  he  saw 
him  kneel  down  beside  what  had  been  Lord  Charles,  and 
untie  the  dead  man's  neckcloth.  Then  he  opened  his  shirt, 
and  felt  his  heart.  And  lastly,  by  some  strange  instinct,  he 
closed  the  dull,  staring  eyes,  which  were  never  to  open  again. 
Then  the  two  stood  silent  for  a  time. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  now,  sir  ?  "  said  the  groom,  at  last. 

"  *  What  is  to  be  done  ? ' "  said  Austin.  "  <  Done/  says  he  ? 
Why,  bring  him  to  life  again,  and  let  me  lie  there  dead  and 
cold  in  his  place.  We  have  been  hardly  used,  Tom.  There 
is  no  mercy  in  Heaven,  Tom  ;  or,  if  there  is,  it  is  all  kept  for 
those  who  whine  and  cringe,  and  I  have  never  done  that,  nor 
has  this  dead  man.  What  have  he  and  I  done,  that  this  has 
nappened?  Answer  me  that.  What  have  he  and  I  done, 
that  things  should  come  to  this?" 

Tom  was  only  a  poor  groom,  —  a  man  not  worth  your  notice 
in  any  way  ;  but  even  he  had  a  dull  feeling  that  Mr.  Elliot, 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  239 

dear  gentleman !  was  beside  himself,  and  was  blaspheming  in 
his  grief.  If  you  had  given  Tom  a  week  to  answer,  he  would 
have  answered,  "  You  have  both  of  you  done  many  things  to 
deserve  this  ;  and  the  mere  fact  of  your  being  here  this  morn 
ing  proves  it."  But  Tom  did  not  get  a  week  to  think  of  his 
answer.  He  was  thinking  of  how  his  dear  dead  Lord's  body 
was  to  be  decently  moved,  before  people  came  about,  and 
gathered  into  a  crowd. 

The  problem  was  solved  for  him.  Two  policeman  came 
up,  and  the  elder  of  them  said,  "  Is  this  gentleman  dead,  sir  ?  " 

"  He  is  quite  dead,"  said  Austin,  quietly. 

"  A  duel,  sir  ?  "  said  the  policeman. 

"  Yes,  a  duel,"  said  Austin.  "  This  dead  man  is,  or  was, 
Lord  Charles  Barty,  the  Duke  of  Cheshire's  son.  I  am 
Mr.  Austin  Elliot,  of  the  United  University  Club.  I  was  his 
second,  and  I  give  myself  into  custody.  Now,  do  be  quick, 
or  the  people  will  be  about." 

He  had  not  made  many  turns  up  and  down  before  an  in 
spector  appeared,  and  Austin  told  him  everything.  "  You  will 
not  take  that  groom  into  custody,  will  you,  inspector  ? "  said 
Austin. 

"  I  ought  to,  sir,"  said  the  inspector. 

"  But  don't  do  it,"  said  Austin.  "  If  it  lay  in  the  sphere  of 
your  duty  to  burn  down  Somerset  House,  you  would  not  like 
to  be  taken  into  custody  and  leave  the  business  to  some  one 
else.  Now,  see  what  that  groom  has  to  do.  He  was  bred  on 
the  estate,  and  will  do  it  quietly.  He  has  got  to  go  to  Chesh 
ire  House  and  burn  it  down  over  their  heads.  He  will  go 
into  the  servants'  hall  and  ask  to  see  the  old  nurse  who  nursed 
them  all.  And  he  will  tell  her  ;  and  she  will  tell  the  Duke ; 
and  the  Duke  will  tell  the  Duchess,  and  they  will  curse  my 
name,  and  the  day  I  was  born,  and  shut  up  the  house  close 
and  dark.  Lamentation  and  mourning  and  woe !  I  beg 


240  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

pardon.  My  head  is  going  over  this.  If  you  knew  all  the 
circumstances,  you  could  not  wonder  at  it." 

"  God  help  you,  sir !  " 

"  Amen.  But  you  will  let  this  poor  groom  go  ?  You  were 
less  than  a  man  if  you  did  not." 

That  was  easily  arranged.  And  then  came  the  terrible 
business  of  removing  the  corpse;  and  I  will  go  no  further, 
only  hoping  J;hat  I  have  not  gone  too  far  already.  But  if  I 
thought  that  I  could  do  more  than  I  have  done  to  give  honest 
men  the  contempt  and  the  loathing  that  I  feel  myself  for  the 
system  of  duelling,  —  for  the  principle  of  making  the  Devil 
arbiter  of  differences  instead  of  God,  —  I  would  go  further. 
I  would  go  all  the  length  to  which  Jules  Janin,  or  the  younger 
Dumas,  have  gone  in  a  very  different  cause. 

Austin  walked  away  with  the  inspector  of  police  like  a 
man  in  a  dream.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  all  the  universe  had 
sunk  round  him  and  left  him  standing  on  a  pinnacle  far  above 
the  reach  of  human  sympathy.  It  was  so  horrible.  It  was 
not  so  much  that  he  was  sorry  or  grieved,  or  that  he  could  have 
wept  wild  tears  for  the  fate  of  his  friend ;  that  state  of  mind 
was  not  come  yet,  and  was  not  to  come  for  a  long  while.  At 
present,  the  whole  business  was  ghastly,  horrible,  unbelievable. 
It  must  be  untrue.  Charles  Barty,  merry,  handsome,  clever, 
the  most  lovable  of  human  beings,  so  gentle,  so  good,  such  a 
thorough  gentleman,  —  Charles  Barty,  the  man  whose  life 
had  hitherto  been  a  sort  of  beautiful,  merry  joke,  yet  who  had 
shown  promise  of  great  things,  should  occasion  arise,  —  this 
man  could  not  be  dead  !  It  was  impossible  that  Death  could 
have  dared !  But  Austin  had  seen  his  body  put  into  a  baker's 
cart,  and  had  seen  the  legs  fall. 

Alas !  Austin,  he  was  dead  enough ;  and  you,  my  poor 
butterfly,  having  lived  three-and-twenty  years  in  a  fool's  para 
dise,  your  religious  faith  absolutely  nothing,  your  political 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  241 

creed  only  built  up  out  of  the  formulas  used  by  your  forefa 
thers,  in  discussing  questions  which  have  been  extinct  many 
a  long  year  agone;  your  social  creed  being,  that  it  was  a 
good  thing  to  get  asked  to  such  and  such  a  party,  and  that 
you  ought  to  get  up  pedigrees  and  know  all  about  everybody, 
—  you,  poor  Austin,  when  you  saw  Lord  Charles  put  into  the 
baker's  cart  and  driven  slowly  away,  were  at  the  edge  of  a 
very  black  hell  indeed.  No  wonder  that  you  clung  to  the 
police  inspector  as  a  reality,  at  all  events,  —  as  the  link  which 
connected  you  with  the  world  which  seemed  to  have  sunk 
away  under  your  feet. 

It  was  well  that  Mr.  Elliot  was  dead,  or  this  would  have 
killed  him  with  a  broken  heart.  That  he  who  had  brought  up 
his  son  on  formulas,  social  and  political,  —  which  meant  some 
thing  in  his  time,  but  which  now  meant  little  or  nothing,  — 
should  be  out  of  the  way,  and  not  see  that  painful  look  of 
puzzled  horror  on  his  son's  face,  that  was  well.  Poor  Austin 
was  the  Louis  Sixteenth  of  duelling,  —  the  last,  the  kindest, 
the  best  of  those  who  struck  to  the  old  rule,  —  the  one  most 
severely  punished. 

When  they  got  to  the  police-office,  the  magistrate  was  try 
ing  the  people  who  had  got  drunk  the  night  before.  Austin 
sent  several  special  messengers,  at  the  inspector's  advice,  to 
old  friends  of  his  father's,  and  sat  wearily  at  one  side  of  the 
court,  listening  to  the  other  cases. 

A  chimney-sweep,  for  nearly  murdering  his  wife.  He  had 
been  remanded  and  remanded  again,  until  the  house-surgeon 
had  pronounced  his  wife  sufficiently  recovered  to  go  and  give 
evidence.  There  she  was,  a  drunken  drab,  with  her  head  all 
plastered  up  with  bandages.  The  house-surgeon  had  thought 
her  dying  at  one  time,  and  had  sent  for  the  magistrate  to  take 
her  evidence  ;  then,  under  fear  of  death,  she  had  told  the  truth, 
but  now,  when  in  the  dock,  looking  at  the  miserable,  degraded, 
11  p 


2-12  AUSTIN   ELLIOT. 

brutal  hound  she  loved  so  well,  she  lied  and  lied  in  his  favor, 
till  the  magistrate  threatened  to  commit  her  for  perjury  ;  and 
at  every  fresh  lie  (God  help  us !)  her  face  seemed  to  grow 
grander  and  nobler,  till  she  looked  almost  beautiful.  "  She," 
thought  Austin,  "  would  die  for  that  wretched  cur,  and  I  —  " 

Two  boys,  brothers,  ages  seventeen  and  eighteen.  They 
had  got  the  trick  of  going  to  Cremorne  and  such  places,  and 
spending  too  much  money.  They  had  put  their  silly  heads 
together  and  committed  a  clumsy  forgery,  —  a  forgery  than 
which  nothing  more  idiotic  ever  entered  into  the  mind  of  rn;m. 
They  had  torn  a  check  out  of  their  master's  book,  filled  it 
up  for  ten  pounds,  and  with  the  most  clumsy  imitation  of  their 
master's  signature,  had  gone  together  to  the  bank  and  presented 
it.  They  were  given  into  custody  at  once,  and  there  they 
were  in  the  dock,  huddling  together  like  two  frightened  sheep. 
The  evidence  was  conclusive,  and  the  magistrate  asked  them 
what  they  had  to  say.  Whereupon  Tom,  the  elder  brother, 
moistening  his  dry  lips  with  his  tongue,  confessed  his  guilt, 
and  said  that  Bob,  his  younger  brother,  knew  nothing  about 
it.  But  Bob  would  n't  have  this  by  any  means  ;  he  asserted 
shrilly  that  he  had  stolen  the  check,  forged  it,  and  had  took 
Tom  to  the  bank  with  him  when  he  presented  it,  because  they 
knew  Tom  and  did  n't  know  he,  and  also  that  Tom  was  a 
devil  to  lie,  and  always  had  been,  which  ask  their  mother. 
The  chivalry  of  these  two  poor  fools  towards  one  another  was 
one  more  stab  in  Austin's  heart.  Now  that  the  horrible  catas 
trophe  had  come,  he  could  see,  that  by  rising  to  the  level  of 
a  higher  law,  he  might  have  saved  his  friend. 

Then  they  shoved  into  the  dock  a  boy  who  scuffled,  and 
lost  one  shoe,  and  had  it  handed  to  him  by  the  policeman  ;  and 
after  he  had  put  it  on,  stood  up  again.  A  boy,  gentlemen,  of 
the  sort  worth,  attending  to,  because  his  clay  has  not  been 
burnt  to  brick,  but  is  still  plastic.  A  boy  who  may  yet  be 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  243 

made  a  man  if  you  can  get  hold  of  him.  The  very  boy, 
gentlemen,  of  all  persuasions,  from  Roman  Catholic  to  Uni 
tarian,  that  you  are,  thank  you,  getting  hold  of,  —  all  honor  to 
you.  A  boy  with  a  shock  head,  his  hair  down  over  his  fore 
head,  who,  when  spoken  to,  puts  his  fists  into  his  eyes  and 
lifts  his  elbows  up  above  his  ears,  expecting  a  blow.  You 
know  him,  messieurs  the  Scripture  readers,  brothers  of  the 
holy  order  of  St.  Francis,  district  visitors  of  the  Sweden- 
borgian,  or  whatever  you  call  yourselves,  —  you  know  the 
young  dog  ;  and,  in  spite  of  all  your  attempted  proselytizing, 
and  your  squabbling,  you  all  mean  him  well.  Have  we  not 
seen  your  good  works  ? 

This  shock-headed  boy  being  put  into  the  dock,  and  accused 
of  being  concerned,  with  his  elder  brother,  still  at  large,  in  the 
tripping  up  of  an  old  gentleman,  and  the  stealing  his  watch 
"  did  n't  know  nothink  about  it !  "  and  in  spr£e  of  the  truculent 
cross-examination  of  Mr.  Barney  Moses  (from  the  office  of 
Ikey  Moses  and  Son),  and  the  hints  of  the  magistrate,  that  in 
consequence  of  his  youth  he  would  be  held  innocent,  he  still 
aggravatingly  and  perversely  persisted  in  "  knowing  nothink 
about  it,"  without  orders  from  his  elder  brother. 

Then  was  this  thieves'  honor  higher  than  gentlemen's 
honor  ?  Was  it  the  same  article,  or  a  spurious  one  ?  There 
was  no  time  for  Austin  to  think  out  the  question,  or  he  would 
probably  as  a  reasonable  man  have  settled  it  this  way :  — 
That  up  to  this  year,  1846,  the  best  and  highest  men  in  the 
land  had  never  had  moral  courage  to  decline  the  test  of  the 
duel ;  that  he  was  one  of  the  first  victims  of  a  new  state  of 
things  ;  that,  acting  on  the  old  rules  of  honor,  he  had  done 
nothing  with  regard  to  this  miserable  business  but  what  was 
inexorably  right  and  necessary.  That,  through  mere  ill-luck, 
his  own  reputation  was  tarnished,  and  his  friend  killed.  That 
was  the  truth  ;  but  Austin  could  not  see  it  just  now.  He 


244  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

placed  the  honor  of  these  thieves  and  prostitutes  above  his 
own,  and  wished  for  death. 

The  charge  against  him  was  made.  The  magistrate  re 
quired  two  sureties  of  £  500  each.  They  were  instantly 
forthcoming,  from  two,  or  if  need  were,  from  a  dozen  of  his 
father's  friends  ;  and  Austin,  after  thanking  them,  went  rapidly 
away  and  took  a  passport  for  France,  and  then  went  to  his 
lawyer. 

He  and  his  lawyer  sat  late.  He  gave  him  orders  to  pre 
pare  deeds,  conveying  all  his  property  to  Eleanor  in  case  of  a 
conviction  (which  was  inevitable),*  and  told  him  that  he  would 
appear  and  sign  them  in  good  time.  He  then  made  a  short 
will,  leaving  all  his  property  to  Eleanor,  in  case  of  his  death 
before  his  conviction.  Then  he  wrote  to  her  a  short  note, 
requesting  her  to  make  good,  out  of  his  effects,  the  loss  of  his 
father's  old  friends,  with  regard  to  his  bail.  And  then  he 
went  home. 

His  servant  was  waiting  for  him.  He  paid  the  man's 
wages,  and  gave  him  a  paper,  which  authorized  him  to  sell  his 
three  horses,  his  cab,  and  his  dog-cart,  at  Tatter-sail's,  and  to 
pay  the  money  into  his  banker's.  This  paper  was  not  worth 
very  much  in  a  legal  point  of  view,  but  he  knew  his  man,  and 
knew  that  he  could  trust  him.  He  told  him  also  to  take  care 
of  his  dog  Robin  ;  and  should  anything  happen,  to  take  him  to 
Miss  Hilton.  Then  he  had  his  landlady,  Mrs.  Macpherson, 
up,  and  settled  with  her,  while  his  man  packed  his  port 
manteau. 

*  It  seems  doubtful  whether  or  no  this  document  or  documents  would 
have  been  worth  the  paper  they  were  written  on.  The  law  about  duelling 
may  be  found  in  Mr.  Samuel  Warren's  article  in  "  Blackwood,"  on  the  duel 
between  Lord  Cardigan  and  Captain  Tuckett.  Our  legal  knowledge  is  in 
sufficient  to  decide  whether  or  no  the  conveyance  of  the  property  of  a  man 
under  bail,  to  a  friend,  will  hold  good.  Our  own  ignorance  on  this  point  is 
not  very  surprising.  But  it  is  surprising  that  the  question,  so  very  impor 
tant,  seems  not  to  be  decided  yet.  ' 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  245 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  before  all  this  was  done, 
and  then  he  sent  his  man  for  a  cab.  His  fool  of  a  servant 
cried,  and  prayed  him  that  he  would  let  him  go  with  him,  but 
Austin  was  pale  and  resolute,  and  went  alone. 

A  strange  journey.  One  of  the  maddest,  silliest  journeys 
ever  undertaken.  First  he  went  to  Calais,  and  very  soon 
found  that  Captain  Hertford  was  not  there,  and  had  not  been 
there.  Then  he  posted  to  Boulogne,  and  spent  three  days 
there  making  inquiries.  Captain  Hertford  had  evidently  not 
been  there  either.  The  Police  Bureau  knew  nothing  of  him 
at  all.  Monsieur  must  have  been  frightfully  deceived  by  in 
terested  persons  ;  no  such  person  had  been  there.  Monsieur, 
weary  of  life,  feeling  hot  about  the  head,  thought  he  would  go 
bathe,  and  did  so.  The  bathers  sat  on  the  shore  and  ate  hot 
gawffres,  and  read  "  Le  Juif  Errant,"  not  yet  grown  stale,  and 
"  Monte-Christo,"  which  will  never  grow  stale.  But  no  one 
knew  anything  of  Captain  Hertford,  or  any  such  man. 
Had  not  Prince  Louis  Buonaparte  shaved  off  his  moustaches, 
put  two  planks  on  his  shoulders,  and  walked  out  of  Ham  ? 
What  did  Monsieur  think  of  that  as  an  instance  of  French 
courage  ?  Hey  then !  Monsieur  was  forced  to  confess  that 
the  Prince  had  shown  courage  of  the  very  highest  order. 
But  finding  no  intelligence  of  Captain  Hertford,  he  crossed 
again  to  Dover. 

There  seemed  only  one  port  left  now  to  which  Captain 
Hertford  would  be  likely  to  have  gone,  —  he  must  have  taken 
passage  from  Brighton  to  Dieppe.  He  might  have  gone  to 
Havre  ;  that  was  still  possible.  Austin  remembered  that  he 
had  said,  "  I  am  off  for  France,"  and  felt  sure  that  he  would 
get  on  his  track.  He  was  more  likely  to  have  gone  to  Dieppe 
than  to  Havre.  Austin  went  down  to  Brighton,  and  crossed 
in  the  steamer  Venezuela,  which  steamer,  I  sincerely  hope,  is 
gone  to  the  bottom  long  ago  ;  for  having  endured  a  gale  of 


246  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

wind  in  her  through  one  night,  about  two  years  before  the 
time  I  speak  of,  and  having  endured  many  gales  of  wind,  in 
many  ships,  in  all  sorts  of  strange  seas  since,  I  have  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  steamer  Venezuela  is  (or  I  hope  was) 
the  worst,  wettest,  and  most  abominably  dangerous  sea-boat 
ever  built. 

Mrs.  Taylor,  of  the  "Hotel  d'Angleterre,"  dead,  I  fear, 
many  years  agone,  the  best  and  cheeriest  landlady  that  ever 
roared  out  of  an  upper  window,  — "  Alphonse  (you  stupid 
lout,  may  God  forgive  me !)  Venez-ici  toutedesweet,  pour 
brusser  les  souliers  de,jeune  Mossoo!  Drat  the  man,  he's 
a  iling  of  his  hair ;  cochon !  —  entendez-vous  ?  "  —  Mrs.  Taylor, 
I  say,  knew  nothing  of  Captain  Hertford ;  but  Austin,  going 
into  the  public  room  at  the  Hotel  Angleterre,  met  a  man 
whom  he  knew,  who  gave  him  the  information  required. 
A  University  man,  in  ill-health,  com<3  over  for  change  of  air 
and  scene. 

"  This  is  a  bad  business,"  he  said.  "  But,  Elliot,  mind 
me,  I  don't  believe  one  word  of  what  they  say  against  you. 
I  know  you  too  well,  to  think  it  possible  that  you  thrust  for 
ward  that  poor  fool  of  a  nobleman  to  fight  your  quarrel. 
It  is  a  lie!" 

"  It  is,  indeed,"  said  Austin. 

"  I  know  it  is.  I  think  that  this  Captain  Hertford  is  sorry 
for  what  has  happened.  We  must  be  just  to  all  men,  Elliot. 
My  cousin  went  in  the  same  boat  with  him  to  Antwerp  last 
week,  and  he  says  that  he  looked  as  pale  as  death,  and  as 
wild  as  a  hawk." 

There  was  still  time.  The  Dart  was  getting  up  steam 
outside  the  hotel  windows.  Austin  was  not  very  long  in 
getting  on  board  of  her.  Next  morning  he  was  at  Brighton, 
the  same  day  in  London.  The  same  night  with  a  pour 
voyager  passport,  on  board  the  Antwerpen !  In  twenty-four 
hours  at  Antwerp. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  247 

At  the  bureau  of  police,  he  got  on  Captain  Hertford's  trail 
at  last,  and  he  followed  it  like  a  bloodhound.  Captains  Hert 
ford  and  Jackson,  it  appeared,  had  arrived  suspiciously,  with 
very  little  luggage,  and  had  taken  tickets  for  Aix-la-Chapelle. 
He  followed  on.  At  Aix-la-Chapelle  he  was  puzzled  again. 
He  was  in  Prussian  territory,  and  the  police  were  not  so 
communicative.  But  he  luckily  remembered  that  Herr  Niel 
sen  Keilleter,  the  greatest  man  in  Aix-la-Chapelle,  was  an 
old  friend  of  his  father's.  He  called  on  him,  and  the  good  old 
man,  little  dreaming  what  he  was  doing,  gave  him  his  as 
sistance.  Captain  Hertford  and  Captain  Jackson  had  gone 
on  to  Cologne,  farther  than  which,  IL  Jiose  days,  the  railway 
did  not  go. 

Here,  at  Cologne,  he  was  once  more  left  to  his  mother  wit. 
He  got  hold  of  a  lacquey  de  place,  who  desired  to  show  him 
the  cathedral,  the  eleven  thousand  virgins,  the  sculls  of  Gas- 
par,  Melchoir,  and  Baltasar,  and,  as  old  James  would  have 
said,  "  the  hull  biling,"  for  one  thaler.  Being  interrogated, 
the  commissionaire  deponed  that  Captain  Hertford  was,  at 
that  same  speaking,  staying  in  the  hotel  at  Deutz.  Austin, 
having  paid  his  thaler,  repaired  there,  and  found  only  a 
gentle  old  Indian  colonel,  by  name  Hanford,  whom  he  dis 
turbed  at  his  dinner.  He  was  quite  at  fault  again,  and  had 
to  leave  the  old  man's  presence  abashed. 

Ah !  it  was  a  weary  journey.  Hope  quite  dead,  and  life 
quite  worthless.  He  went  out,  and  sat  upon  the  wharf  at 
Deutz,  and  looked  at  the  river,  sweeping,  hissing,  boiling  on, 
under  the  young  May  moon. 

A  great  river.  The  first  he  had  ever  seen.  It  came,  they 
said,  spouting  in  a  thousand  cataracts  out  of  the  everlasting 
snow,  and  then  went  gleaming  and  sparkling  on  through  such 
wildly  beautiful  scenery  of  feathering  woodland  and  hanging 
rock  as  no  one  could  realize  without  seeing.  There  was  a 


248  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

grand  catastrophe  at  Seliaff hausen.  After  that,  it  was  a  mere, 
dull,  sweeping  waste  of  waters ;  and  at  last,  down  there  below 
Dusseldorf,  the  mighty  river,  born  in  the  eternal  snow -crystals, 
begins  to  creep  ignominiously  towards  the  sea  through  fifty 
sluggish  canals. 

So  poor  Austin  sat  there  for  a  time,  trying  to  compare  his 
life  to  that  of  the  Rhine, —  quite  forgetting  that  the  river  only 
became  useful  and  beautiful  after  its  catastrophe  at  Schaff- 
hausen,  and  that  its  real  usefulness  and  its  real  beauty  in 
creased  with  every  mile  till  it  reached  the  sea,  and  was  lost  in 
the  eternity  of  the  ocean.  And  after  a  time  he  held  his  way 
'across  the  bridge  of  be.,..-,  towards  the  great  cathedral,  which 
heaved  up  its  mighty  ribs  above  the  sleeping  town. 

He  gained  no  further  intelligence  of  Captain  Hertford. 
But  in  his  eagerness  of  purpose  his  wit  was  sharp.  He 
knew  that  Captain  Hertford  gamed,  and  would  be  very  likely 
to  be  found  near  gaming-tables.  His  ignorance  of  the  world 
generally,  and  the  Continent  in  particular,  were  so  very  great 
that  he  did  not  know  which  were  the  places  hereabout,  where 
men  came  to  lose  their  money.  So,  with  an  Englishman's 
instinct,  he  sent  for  the  landlord. 

The  landlord's  son  came ;  a  handsome  young  fellow,  who 
had  had  his  nose  slit  in  some  childish  Burschen  duel.  At 
Austin's  question  he  seemed  puzzled.  Answered  that  there 
were  tables  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  at  which  Monsieur  (they  spoke 
in  French)  could  have  played  (being  a  foreigner)  to  his  heart's 
content. 

Austin  told  him  that  he  did  not  want  to  play.  That  he 
wanted  to  find  a  man,  whom  he  was  most  likely  to  find  in  the 
neighborhood  of  a  gaming-table. 

"  An  affair  of  honor,  then,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  Well,"  said  Austin,  "  it  is  something  of  that  sort.  I  feel 
sure  you  would  not  betray  me." 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  2  19 

The  young  man  at  once  grew  heroic  and  mysterious.  He, 
too,  had  had  his  affairs,  but  what  imported  it  to  speak  of  them. 
He  laid  his  finger  on  his  wounded  nose,  and  Austin  did  not 
laugh ;  though  when  he  compared  in  his  mind  the  childish 
fencing-match,  in  which  the  young  man  had  been  engaged,  and 
the  affair  in  which  he  would  find  himself  in  a  few  days,  he  felt 
very  much  inclined  to  do  so. 

This  young  man  informed  him  that  the  next  place  on  the 
general  route  of  tourists  where  one  played  was  a  place  called 
Ems,  in  the  Duchy  of  Nassau.  That  one  went  from  hence  by 
steamer  to  Coblence,  and  by  diligence  or  voiture,  as  one 
pleased,  to  Ems.  That  there  were  two  companies  of  vapor 
vessels  on  that  river,  both  of  which  professed  to  take  one  to 
Coblence.  The  one,  the  Cologne  company,  possessing  a  mag 
nificent  fleet,  swift  as  the  wind,  officered  by  gentlemen,  sup 
plied  with  every  luxury  ;  the  other,  the  Dusseldorf  company, 
composed  of  miserable  and  rotten  boats,  slow,  dirty,  officered  by 
abusive  villains,  who  too  often  succeeded  in  the  dearest  wish 
of  their  hearts,  that  of  abimer  in  the  depths  of  their  noble  river, 
not  only  their  rotten  boat,  but  also  their  deluded  passengers. 

Austin  having  been  previously  recommended  by  a  friend  to 
go  by  the  Dusseldorf  company,  as  being  the  best  of  the  two, 
felt  very  much  inclined,  after  this  exhibition  of  spite,  to  do  so. 
He  decided  to  go  on  by  the  first  boat,  and  did  so.  It  was  a 
Cologne  boat. 

He  remembers  that  after  they  got  beyond  Bonn  there  was 
some  fine  scenery,  or  he  thinks  there  was,  because  a  noble 
young  American,,  with  whom  he  made  immediate  acquaintance 
on  board,  kept  calling  his  attention  to  it.  But  he  was  too 
anxious  to  care  whether  the  hills  were  ten  feet  high  or  ten 
thousand.  His  time  was  getting  short.  His  bail  would  be 
forfeited  in  little  more  than  a  fortnight,  and  Captain  Hertford 
as  far  from  being  found  as  ever, 
ll* 


250  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

He  slept  that  night  at  the  "  Giant,"  at  Coblence,  and  the 
next  morning  rumbled  quietly  away  towards  Ems,  up  the 
pleasant  Lahn  valley,  before  the  mists  had  fully  rolled  away 
from  the  summits  of  the  sheets  of  feathering  woodland,  which 
rose  overhead  on  all  sides. 

He  put  up  at  the  Hotel  de  Russie,  and,  after  breakfast, 
went  down  to  the  Kursal,  which  round  the  Kessel  and  the 
Kranken  was  thronged  with  all  sorts  of  people  drinking  the 
waters ;  and  here  he  loitered  for  something  like  half  an  hour, 
until  some  one  pushed  against  him  accidentally  in  the  crowd, 
and  apologized  to  him.  It  was  a  magnificent  Tyrolese,  the 
first  that  Austin  had  ever  seen.  The  man's  enormous  stature, 
the  honest  repose  of  his  face,  his  grand  dress,  and  his  elegant, 
easy  carriage,  attracted  Austin.  It  was  a  new  animal,  and  a 
very  remarkable  one.  He  smiled  and  returned  the  man's  cour 
tesy  in  French.  Following  him  with  his  eyes,  he  saw  that,  grand 
as  he  was,  he  was  only  the  keeper  of  a  stall  for  the  sale  of 
Tyrolese  knick-knacks,  but  he  determined  to  have  some  talk 
with  him.  He  went  up  and  bought  some  trifle  or  another, 
and  engaged  him  in  conversation  for  a  little  time.  At  last  he 
asked,  "  Had  he  a  chamois  head  ?  "  The  man  had  not,  "  but 
if  Monsieur  would  accompany  him  to  his  brother's  stall,  he 
should  have  his  choice  of  several." 

Monsieur  did  so,  and  as  Monsieur  approached  our  younger 
brother's  stall,  he  became  aware  that  Captain  Hertford  was 
standing  in  front  of  it,  bargaining  for  a  pair  of  gloves. 

Austin  turned  to  the  Tyrolese  and  raised  his  finger.  The 
man,  with  instinctive  high-bred  courtesy,  bowed  and  turned 
back  to  his  own  stall,  and  Austin  stood,  not  quite  certain  how 
to  proceed. 

Captain  Hertford  bought  his  gloves,  and  turning  into  the 
main  room  of  the  Kursal,  approached  the  counter  in  front  of 
the  spring.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  going  to  drink  his 
waters. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.       •  251 

He  had  the.  red  Bohemian  glass  raised  to  his  lips,  when 
Austin  came  behind  him  and  said,  quietly,  "  Captain  Hert 
ford  ! " 

Captain  Hertford  was  no  coward ;  but  he  knew  the  voice, 
and  when  he  turned  he  was  as  pale  as  death.  When  he  saw 
Austin's  wild  face,  the  glass  he  held  fell  from  his  hand,  and 
flew,  splintered  in  a  hundred  ruby  crystals,  about  the  stone 
pavement  at  his  feet. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  what  I  want  of  you,"  said  Austin. 

"  Do  you  want  satisfaction  ? "  said  Captain  Hertford,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  Yes." 

"  It  is  a  mistake.  That  last  business  was  devilish  horrid. 
Do  you  repeat  that  you  want  satisfaction  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Very  well,  your  blood  is  on  your  own  head.  Shall  you 
send  to-day?" 

"  Yes.     Who  am  I  to  send  to  ?  " 

"Jackson  and  I  are  at  the  Hotel  d'Angleterre,  over  the 
river.  Good  morning." 

He  did  not  know  a  soul  there ;  he  had  to  go  and  find  Cap 
tain  Jackson  to  get  an  introduction  to  some  one.  Captain 
Jackson  found  him  a  Frenchman,  who  was  much  pleased  with 
theH5usiness,  and  who  proceeded  to  make  all  arrangements. 
He  returned  soon  to  Austin,  and  told  him  that  they  were  to 
walk  out  that  very  evening  to  a  place  called  Dausenau. 

They,  at  the  time  appointed,  sauntered  up  along  the  road, 
to  the  quaint  old  village,  and  turned  up  to  the  left,  into  a  ro 
mantic,  deeply-wooded  glen ;  through  the  bright  green  mead 
ows  of  which  a  bright  trout-stream  came  flashing  and  pausing, 
and  babbling  pleasantly  of  peace  and  spring-tide  and  hope. 
Austin  for  one  instant,  mad,  ruined,  and  desperate  as  he  was, 
felt  the  influence  of  the  June  evening  tide,  and  longed  to  be 


252  •      AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

at  rest,  —  in  his  grave  if  need  were,  —  to  be  anywhere  but 
where  he  was.  Feeling  no  fear,  but  a  mixture  of  grief,  re 
morse,  and  horror,  difficult  to  bear,  preserving  reason  at  the 
same  time. 

"While  in  this  frame  of  mind,  he  passed  near  a  mill  and  out 
into  a  meadow,  and  there  was  the  author  of  all  this  misery 
and  woe  before  him.  In  less  than  ten  minutes  he  was  stand 
ing  cool  and  calm,  face  to  face  with  him,  with  a  loaded  pistol 
in  his  hand.  Surely  Hertford's  day  of  reckoning  was  come. 
Not  yet. 

Austin  had  no  more  intention  of  firing  his  pistol  at  Captain 
Hertford,  than  he  had  of  blowing  out  his  own  brains.  The 
last  affair  had  been,  as  Captain  Hertford  said,  so  horrid,  that 
Austin  was  determined  that  he  would  never  again  have  any 
hand  in  a  repetition  of  such  a  thing,  unless  he  himself  were 
the  victim.  So  when  Captain  Hertford  had  fired,  and  he 
heard  the  ball  whistle  close  by  his  head,  he  turned  coolly 
away  and  fired  at  a  piece  of  rock  among  the  copse  on  the 
right  of  the  meadow. 

But  Captain  Hertford  insisted  upon  another  shot ;  and  this 
brought  on  a  general  wrangle,  during  which  it  became  pain 
fully  evident  that  the  gallant  Captain  had  been  drinking. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  done,  but  to  place  the  men  again,  it 
seemed.  This  time  Austin  again  fired  away  to  the  right,  and, 
luckily  for  himself,  was  very  slightly  grazed  on  the  leg.  The 
affair  was,  of  course,  instantly  stopped.  Austin  had  fought  his 
first  and  last  duel.  He  had  satisfied  every  requirement  that 
the  most  punctilious  bully  could  make.  He  had  hunted  Cap 
tain  Hertford  over  the  Continent  till  he  had  found  him,  had 
had  him  out,  and  had  been  unluckily  wounded  by  him.  He 
appealed  to  the  three  others ;  they  confirmed  him.  Jackson 
said  that  he  would  take  care  that  everything  should  be  known 
in  London  on  his  return  ;  and  Austin  limped  off  back  to  Ems, 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  253 

somewhat  lighter  in  heart  than  before.  He  had  faced  one  of 
his  troubles  successfully ;  his  reputation  was  secure  again  ;  he 
could  look  a  man  in  the  face  ;  he  had  made  due  pilgrimage  to 
the  outraged  idol,  honor,  and  had  done  sacrifice.  The  god 
was  slightly  in  his  debt,  —  or,  at  all  events,  things  were  about 
square  between  them.  This  was,  so  far,  satisfactory.  He 
knew  (who  better?)  that  this  fetish  he  had  been  taught  to 
worship  was  a  cruel  and  vindictive  demon ;  but,  like  a  true 
idolater,  he  believed  that,  by  overloading  his  idol  with  sacri 
fices,  he  might  lay  it  under  obligations,  and,  so  to  speak,  have 
a  case  against  it, — a  case  which,  under  some  sort  of  law,  would 
hold  good,  and  must  be  attended  to. 

"  Was  it  for  this,"  says  the  old  nigger  in  that  most  beautiful 
book,  "The  Cruise  of  the  Midge,"  after  he  had  pitched  his 
idol  into  the  lee-scuppers  in  his  wrath,  "  was  it  for  this  that  I 
gave  you  chicken,  and  stick  fedder  in  your  tail,  —  eh  ?  "  He, 
like  Austin,  had  a  strong  case  against  his  fetish. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

AUSTIN  made  his  appearance  in  due  time  at  his  attorney's 
office  in  Lincoln's  Inn.  The  clerks  looked  very  grave,  and 
one  of  them  showed  him  into  the  presence  of  the  old  man. 
Austin  saw  him  rise  hurriedly  and  turn  pale  when  he  ap 
peared  ;  Austin  shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand. 

"  So  you  have  come  back,"  said  the  attorney.  "  Ah,  fool 
ish,  foolish  boy.  How  I  have  hoped  and  prayed  that  you 
might  be  too  late.  But  stay ;  there  is  time.  My  dear 
Austin,  let  me  beg  you  on  my  knees,  for  the  sake  of  your 
good  name  and  your  father's  memory,  to  go  back  to  France  this 
night.  Think  that  in  three  days  it  will  be  too  late  forever." 


2-H  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  I  cannot,  old  friend,  in  honor.  The  wrong  I  have  done  to 
the  law  shall  be  punished  by  the  law.  Say  no  more  about  it." 

The  old  man  said  no  more.  He  did  not  hide  from  Austin 
that  he  feared  a  conviction  ;  that  he  hardly  knew  how  it  was 
to  be  avoided. 

"  God's  will  be  done.     You  feel  sure  of  a  conviction  ?  " 

"  Almost." 

"  The  jury  acquitted  P last  March,"  suggested  Austin.* 

"  In  direct  opposition  to  Erie's  summing  up,"  said  the  old 
man,  eagerly.  "  And  why  ?  Because  they  believed  that  it 

was  Liston's  operation  which  killed  S ,  and  not  H 's 

bullet.  That  is  why.  They  gave  him  the  benefit  of  that 
doubt,  because  —  because  —  well,  because  their  sympathies 

went  with  P .  They  considered  him  blameless,  —  only  a 

young  fellow  who  had  done  what  fifty  others  had  done  before 
him,  —  gone  out  with  his  friend." 

"  And  their  sympathies  will  not  be  with  me,  then  ? "  said 
Austin. 

"  No,"  said  the  old  man,  steadily.  "  If  it  kills  me  to  say  so 
to  your  father's  son,  I  will  say  it.  This  duel  has  been  talked 
about  a  great  deal.  Lord  Charles  Barty  was  a  young  man 
of  great  promise,  and  the  newspapers  have  written  leading 
articles  about  it.  It  has  made  a  great  stir  in  London.  But  all 
ranks  and  all  parties  agree  in  condemning  you.  Everybody 
knows,  or  think  they  do,  that  you  and  Captain  Hertford  were 
rivals  for  the  hand  of  this  Miss  Hilton.  Everybody  has  heard 
that  you  went  to  the  United  University  Club,  and  spoke 
threateningly  about  Captain  Hertford.  Everybody  (except 
myself  and  those  who  know  you)  believe  that  you  let  Lord 
Charles  fight  this  duel  for  you.  Among  others  who  believe 
this  are  the  jury.  The  judge  will  tell  them,  in  summing  up, 
to  banish  from  their  minds  all  that  they  have  previously  heard 

*  Referring  to  the  Gosport  duel.     ' 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  255 

about  the  case,  but  they  won't,  not  if  I  know  'em  ;  they  never 

do,  confound  'em.  Look  at  P 's  acquittal,  Austin,  my 

poor  boy,  and  there  read  the  story  of  your  own  conviction." 

u  I  see  what  you  mean  very  well,"  said  Austin ;  "  that  in 
P 's  case  they  knew,  from  what  they  had  heard  else 
where,  that  he  was,  as  near  as  possible  in  such  a  case,  blame 
less  ;  that  in  mine,  from  what  they  have  heard  elsewhere,  they 
believe  me  more  morally  guilty  than  the  principals  them 
selves  ;  and,  therefore,  that  they  will  convict.  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  state  of  the  case.  But  there  is  time  to  get 
out  of  the  way.  You  can  make  everything  good,  and  so  on. 
It  is  nothing.  You  ought  to  be  off  now.  Come,  let  us  go." 

"  No,"  said  Austin,  "  I  think  not.  I  think,  old  friend,  that 
we  will  see  this  matter  out  to  the  very  end.  I  am  so  careless 
of  life  now,  that  I  would  rather  be  punished  in  this  world 
somewhat.  It  would,  at  all  events,  give  me  the  feeling,  to  the 
end  of  my  wretched  life,  that  if  I  had  sinned,  so  also  had  I 
suffered.  It  may  not,  you  say,  abate  one  jot  of  my  eternal 
punishment  hereafter ;  but,  speaking  in  a  selfish  point  of  view, 
I  would  sooner  let  this  matter  take  its  course.  I  will  not  have 
the  whole  of  the  retribution,  which  must  come  on  me  sooner 
or  later,  left  for  the  next  world." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  more  to  say,  Austin  Elliot,"  said  the 
attorney.  "  Must  we  go  on  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  I  have  broke  God's  laws,  as  well  as  man's.  I 
have  been  mad.  Do  you  know  what  I  have  been  doing 
abroad  ? ' 

"No." 

"  Committing  another  crime.  I  hunted  that  man,  Hertford, 
till  I  found  him,  and  then  had  him  out.  I  need  hardly  tell 
you  that  I  would  have  died  sooner  than  fire  at  him.  But  in 
doing  this  I  have  committed  another  crime,  I  fired  away  from 
him,  but  still  I  gave  him  the  chance  of  adding  to  his  guilt  in 


256  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

murdering  me.  I  will  take  my  punishment  for  both,  and  try 
to  bear  it.  But.  I  shall  die.  Let  us  speak  of  business. 
About  those  papers  which  you  were  to  get  ready?" 

"  This  plan  of  yours,"  said  the  attorney,  after  a  long  pause, 
"  of  conveying  your  property  won't  do.  I  have  had  the  best 
opinion  about  it.  Lord  Cardigan  tried  it  six  years  ago,  and  it 
is  the  opinion  of  the  best  men  that  you  had  better  trust  to  the 
mercy  of  the  Crown.  In  Lord  Cardigan's  case,  it  was  a  fla 
grant  attempt  to  defeat  justice.  It  would  not  be  allowed  again. 
It  must  not  be  even  mentioned.  Your  chance  is  submission. 
If  you  choose  to  sign  your  will,  do  so.  You  will  go  and  see 
Miss  Hilton  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  No  ;  Eleanor  has  made  her  bed,  and  must  lie  on  it.  I 
love  her,  old  friend,  but  she  could  keep  a  secret  from  me  which 
she  could  tell  to  that  cutthroat  bully,  Hertford." 

"  I  wish  I  was  in  possession  of  facts,"  said  the  attorney. 
"  If  I  was,  I  should  find  that  you  were  utterly  wrong.  I 
know  that  as  surely  as  I  know  that  the  sun  shines.  Come,  go 
to  her." 

"  I  ought  not,  I  dare  not,  I  will  not.  Have  it  which  way 
you  will.  She,  by  her  absurd  affectation  of  mystery,  helped  to 
make  me  mad  and  jealous.  If  she  cares  for  me,  let  her  come 
to  me  in  prison,  and  make  it  up  there.  In  prison,  I  say. 
They  won't  hang  me,  will  they  ?  By  Gad  !  they  won't  dare 
to  do  that." 

"  Erie,"  said  the  attorney,  looking  steadily  at  Austin, 

"  when  summing  up  in  P 's  case,  laid  down  that  every 

one  present  at  a  duel,  either  as  principal  or  second,  was  guilty 
of  murder.  They  could  hang  you,  you  know.  Perhaps  they 
won't.  Indeed,  I  don't  believe  they  will.  Transportation  for 
life  is  generally  the  next  sentence,  after  that  twenty-one  years, 
then  fourteen.  Fourteen  years  is  a  devilish  long  time,  and 
you  might  be  at  Boulogne  to-morrow  morning." 


AUSTIN   ELLIOT.  257 

This  was  the  hardest  assault  that  Austin  had  had.  He 
stood  firm  under  it,  and  the  attorney,  seeing  nothing  was  to  be 
made  of  him,  told  him  that,  if  convicted,  he  would  probably  be 
imprisoned  for  a  month,  possibly  for  six.  And  after  this  they 

parted. 

*  *  *  *  * 

Let  her  come  to  him  in  prison,  if  she  really  loved  him.  Let 
her  explain  her  deceit  there.  And  there  let  him  tell  her  that 
he  had  forgiven  her,  —  that  he  was  a  ruined  man,  —  that  it 
did  not  consort  with  his  honor  that  their  engagement  should  go 
on,  —  that  his  pride  would  not  allow  him  to  link  an  heiress  of 
such  brilliant  prospects  with  his  own  desperate  fortunes. 
Then  let  them  part  forever. 

Austin  went  to  prison  in  due  time,  and  dreed  his  weird 
there,  as  we  shall  see.  But  she  never  came  near  him  there. 
And  yet  have  I  done  my  work  so  very  poorly  that  you  dis 
trust  her  ?  I  hope  not. 


CHAPTER    XXXII 


IT  was  a  most  interesting  case,  and  the  court  was  crowded. 

The  newspapers  had  been  clamoring  for  a  conviction.    P , 

they  said,  had  been  acquitted  through  false  sentimentality  on 
the  part  of  the  jury.  The  newspapers  did  not  complain  of 

this.     P was  as  innocent  as  a  man  might  be  under  such 

circumstances,  —  a  noble  young  fellow,  who  could  not  have 
acted  in  any  other  way  ;  a  man  who  bore  the  highest  charac 
ter  in  every  way.  But  still  a  conviction  was  wanted,  and  this 
was  the  very  case  in  which  to  convict.  This  young  man, 
Elliot,  had  notoriously  thrust  his  friend  Lord  Charles  Barty 

Q 


258  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

into  a  quarrel  which  should  have  been  his  own,  and  had 
sneaked 'out  of  it  himself.  By  every  law,  human  and  divine, 
by  civil  law  and  by  the  laws  of  honor,  this  Elliot  was  the  man 
to  make  an  example  of. 

•  The  question  was,  "  Would  he  put  in  an  appearance  ? " 
The  more  long-headed  and  shrewd  people  said,  "  O  Lord,  no  ! 
there  was  not  a  chance  of  it.  That  you  might  make  your 
mind  quite  easy  on  that  score,  my  good  fellow.  That  they  be 
lieved  they  knew  something  of  the  world,  and  that  they  put  it 
to  you,  as  a  judge  of  human  nature,  and  a  reasonable  being, 
whether  it  was  likely  that  he  would  put  in  an  appearance  after 
three  weeks'  law."  The  men  who  knew  Austin  best  thought 
quite  differently,  and  had  to  endure  what  the  deep  dogs  before 
mentioned  said  of  him,  which,  accompanied  as  it  was  with  that 
peculiar  contemptuous  smile  which  the  deep  dogs  aforesaid 
generally  assume  when  they  are  being  deeper  than  usual,  was 
very  hard  to  bear,  but  which  had  to  be  endured  (as  we  said 
before  of  unendurable  things)  nevertheless. 

"  It  was  against  Austin  Elliot's  interest  to  appear.  There 
fore,  he  would  not  appear."  Conclusion  not  all  right,  by  any 
means,  in  consequence  of  the  omission  of  a  rather  important 
middle  term.  It  is  astonishing  how  some  shallow  men,  merely 
from  the  fact  of  denying  the  possibility  of  a  man  acting  on  high 
and  disinterested  motives,  get  to  think  themselves  worldly 
wise ;  and  it  is  still  more  astonishing  how  wiser  and  better 
men  than  themselves  shake  their  heads,  and  give  them  credit 
for  worldly  wisdom  and  knowledge  of  human  nature.  Why, 
the  pickpockets  and  thieves  in  any  police-court  will  show  them 
what  nonsense  they  talk,  when  they  place  self-interest  as  the 
only  source  of  human  action.  But  if  you  bray  a  fool  in  a  mor 
tar,  he  will  only  turn  round  on  you,  and  offer  to  prove  that  he 
was  right  from  the  beginning. 

So,  when  Austin's  name  was  called,  and  he  stepped  quietly 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  259 

into  the  dock,  and  stood  there  pale  and  anxious,  but  perfectly 
calm,  the  wise  men  were  slightly  puzzled,  but  made  out  in  a 
few  minutes  the  theory  that  Austin's  game  was  to  submit, 
throw  himself  on  the  mercy  of  the  court,  and  save  his  property. 
Oh !  deep-dyed  idiots  !  So  utterly  unable  to  appreciate  the 
grief,  the  despair,  the  horror  in  that  wild  young  heart ;  and  the 
strange,  half-heathenish  feeling  which  was  there  too,  that  he 
might,  by  suffering  in  his  own  person,  atone  for  his  sin ;  and 
that  by  faithfully  and  unflinchingly  going  through  this  adven 
ture  to  the  end,  by  enduring  courageously  all  the  consequences 
of  it,  that  he  might  perhaps  raise  himself  to  the  level  of  his 
dead  friend.  So  the  mainspring  of  all  human  action  is  self- 
interest,  gentlemen  !  So  you  have  never  had  a  friend,  and 
never  want  one  !  Let  us  grant  you,  that  the  Samaritan  was 
going  to  stand  for  Jericho,  and  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  of 
striking  a  blow  at  the  Levite  interest,  and  let  us  have  done 
with  it.  He  only  gave  the  landlord  two  pence,  and  we  never 
hear  of  his  having  come  back  and  paid  the  rest  of  the  score. 
Is  that  the  way  you  would  argue  ?  Very  well ;  he  did  the 
thing  very  cheap.  He  was  a  long-headed  man.  You  will 
probably,  however,  not  find  him  in  the  same  circle  of  the 
Paradise  of  Fools  with  yourselves. 

It  all  turned  out  as  Austin's  attorney  had  predicted.  Every 
member  of  the  jury  had  been  talking  about  the  duel  this  three 
weeks  past. 

The  escape  of  Prince  Louis  Buonaparte  from  Ham,  and 
the  Barty-Hertford  duel,  had  been  the  main  subjects  of  con 
versation  among  them  for  that  time.  When  they  sat  in  that, 
box,  they  were  requested  to  dismiss  from  their  minds  all  that 
they  had  heard  outside  that  court.  A  modest  request  this,  to 
ask  twelve  men  to  forget  what  they  had  been  talking  about 
for  the  last  fortnight.  It  was  not  complied  with  ;  it  was  child 
ish  to  suppose  that  it  could  be  ;  no  one  ever  did  think  that  it 


2GO  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

would  be ;  Austin  was  condemned  before  he  came  into  court. 
Counsel  spoke  on  each  side.  The  counsel  for  the  prosecution 
were  very  moderate,  the  counsel  for  the  defence  did  their  best, 
which  was  nothing.  The  judge  summed  up  almost  in  the  very 
words  of  Mr.  Justice  Erie  two  months  before,  in  a  similar  case, 
but  every  one  of  the  jury  had  formed  their  own  opinion ;  and 
that  opinion  was  identical  in  all  the  twelve  of  them,  to  wit, 
that  Austin  had  not  acted  "  honorable,"  and  so  they  found  him 
guilty  of  manslaughter.  A  perfectly  just  finding,  but  on  per 
fectly  unjust  grounds. 

The  judge  gave  a  glance  at  the  jury,  in  which,  said  some 
who  watched  him,  there  was  a  slight  gleam  of  contempt.  He 
paused  before  he  passed  sentence,  and  when  he  began  to  speak, 
he  spoke  rather  low.  "  It  had  pleased  Almighty  God,"  he 
said,  "  for  some  inscrutable  reason,  to  strike  down  the  prisoner 
at  the  bar,  in  the  very  beginning  of  what  some  had  thought 
would  have  been  a  very  noble  and  glorious  career.  He,  as  an 
old  man,  earnestly  prayed  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  that  in  the 
solitude  and  seclusion  to  which  he  was  now  to  be  condemned, 
that  he  would  take  this  lesson  to  heart,  and  remember  that 
God  only  chastened  in  his  infinite  love." 

A  pause,  and  a  profound  silence.  The  jury  felt  uneasy, 

and  began  to  wish  they  had  done  like  P 's  jury,  and  let  the 

young  gentleman  off. 

The  judge  went  on,  though  his  voice  was  a  little  husky.  "  I 
would  not  add  one  iota  to  the  terrible  remorse  which  I  know 
you  feel.  Nay,  I  would  lighten  it.  Remember  my  words  in 
prison.  If  this  chastisement  is  taken  to  heart,  the  time  will 
come,  Austin  Elliot,  when  you  may  bless  the  day  in  which  you 
stood  in  that  dock.  I  am  condemning  you  to  social  and  politi 
cal  death.  At  this  moment  a  cloud  passes  over  your  life, 
hitherto  so  bright  and  happy,  the  shadow  of  which  will  remain, 
and  will  never  wholly  pass  away  from  you  again  on  this  side 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  261 

the  grave.  The  jury  have  done  their  duty.  It  remains  for 
me  to  do  mine. 

"  One  year's  imprisonment." 

The  turnkey  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  he  followed 
the  turnkey  out,  and  was  given  over  to  a  policeman.  He 
brushed  the  shoulder  of  the  next  prisoner,  a  young  man,  a 
burglar,  who  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  laughed,  and  said 
that  it  was  a  good  thing  that  the  swells  got  it  sometimes, 
though  if  he  had  the  giving  on  it  to  'em  —  Austin  did  n't 
hear  -any  more  than  that,  and  did  not  appreciate  or  care  about 
what  he  had  heard.  He  was  confused,  and  felt  as  if  he  was 
going  to  be  ill.  He  asked  for  some  water,  and  they  gave  it 
to  him,  and  then  he  sat  down  and  began  thinking. 

A  year.  This  was  1846.  Then  it  would  be  1847.  What 
was  the  day  of  the  month?  He  could  not  remember,  and 
asked  the  policeman. 

The  eleventh  of  June.  The  policeman  repeated  it  twice, 
and  then  Austin  thanked  him,  but  his  mind  was  elsewhere. 
A  woman  who  sat  opposite  to  him,  a  weary  witness,  had  got 
on  odd  boots.  They  were  both  black  jean  boots,  and  were 
both  for  the  right  foot.  One  was  trodden  on  one  side,  and 
the  other  was  gone  at  the  toes,  but  Austin  was  wide  awake 
enough  to  see  that  they  were  both  right-foot  boots.  You 
could  n't  take  him  in.  What  a  fool  the  woman  must  be ; 
perhaps  she  was  drunk  when  she  put  them  on.  She  looked 
a  drunken  sort  of  a  drab.  But  there  was  something  funny 
in  it.  Austin,  God  help  him,  had  a  quiet  laugh  over  it ;  and 
soon  they  told  him  it  was  time  to  go. 

And  so  he  went,  patient  and  contented  enough,  for  happily 
he  was  just  now  past  feeling  anything  acutely.  As  he  was 
going  down  the  corridor,  something  struck  him.  When  he 
had  started  from  home  that  morning,  his  dog  Robin  had 
followed  him,  and  would  not  be  driven  back.  Pie  remem- 


262  AUSTIN   ELLIOT. 

bered  that  now.  He  asked  a  policeman,  who  was  standing 
by,  to  see  after  the  dog  for  him,  and  take  him  to  Miss  Hil 
ton's,  in  Wilton  Crescent,  and  said  she  would  give  him  five 
shillings.  The  man  said,  "  Yes,  he  would,"  and  Austin 
thanked  him,  and  as  he  stepped  through  the  crowd  into  the 
prison-van,  he  looked  round  for  his  dog,  but  could  not  see  him. 

Robin  had  seen  him,  though,  and  was  quite  contented.  His 
master,  thought  he,  was  busy  to-day,  and  was  now  going  for  a 
drive.  Robin  had  waited  for  Austin  in  all  sorts  of  places,  for 
all  sorts  of  times,  and  had  seen  Austin  get  into  all  sorts  of  car 
riages,  and  drive  away,  without  thinking  about  him.  His 
custom,  on  these  occasions,  was  to  tear  along  the  street,  in 
front  of  the  vehicle  into  which  Austin  had  got, — be  it  cab,  car 
riage,  or  omnibus,  —  with  joyous  bark,  ready  to  take  his  part  in 
the  next  pleasant  adventure  which  should  befall.  So  now  he 
dashed  through  the  crowded  Old  Bailey  at  the  hazard  of  his 
life,  racing  and  leaping  in  front  of  the  prison-van,  which  held 
his  ruined  and  desperate  master,  as  if  this  were  the  best  fun 
of  all. 

The  van  took  Austin  to  the  great  bald  prison  by  the  river 
side,  and  he  was  hurried  in.  The  cruel  iron  door  clanged 
behind  him,  and  sent  its  echoes  booming  through  the  long,  dis 
mal,  whitewashed  corridors.  And  the  clang  of  that  door  fell 
like  a  death-knell  on  his  ear.  "  I  am  condemning  you,"  said 
the  judge,  "  to  social  and  political  death."  He  knew  it  now. 
The  door  jarred  and  clanged,  and  the  world  knew  Austin 
Elliot  no  more. 

Outside  that  great  prison-door  all  was  glorious  June  sun 
shine  ;  the  river  flashing  on,  covered  with  busy  craft,  towards 
the  tall  blue  dome  which  rose  into  the  air  above  the  drifting 
smoke,  far  away  eastward.  The  June  sun  smote  fiercely  on 
the  long  prison-wall,  on  the  quiet  road  which  passed  it,  on  the 
great  iron  door  which  had  shut  in  Austin  Elliot,  and  all  his 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  263 

high-built  hopes  and  fancies.  There  is  not  a  duller  place  in 
all  London  than  that  river-terrace  beneath  the  prison-wall. 
There  is  never  anything  to  see  there.  People  who  have  cause 
to  go  that  way  generally  hurry  past :  there  is  nothing  to  see 
there  in  general. 

But,  for  many  days  after  this,  people  who  had  passed  in  a 
hurry  came  dawdling  back  again  ;  for  there  was  something 
to  attract  them,  though  they  would  have  been  troubled  to  tell 
you  what.  There  sat,  all  this  time,  a  dog  against  the  prison- 
door,  in  the  burning  sunshine,  —  a  dog  who  sat  patient,  and 
spoke  to  no  other  dogs,  but  who  propped  himself  up  against  the 
nails  and  bars,  and  panted  in  the  heat,  and  snapped  sometimes 
at  the  flies.  Those  who  turned  and  came  back  again  knew, 
by  their  mother-wit,  that  the  dog  had  seen  some  one  go  into 
that  prison,  and  had  set  himself  to  wait  till  he  came  out  again  ; 
and  they  spoke  in  low  tones,  the  one  to  the  other,  and  tried  to 
get  the  dog  away,  but  he  would  not  come.  And  one  slipshod 
drunken  woman,  whose  husband  was  also  behind  that  door, 
urged  by  some  feeling  of  sickly  sentimentality,  which  we  will 
charitably  attribute  to  gin,  if  you  please,  lest  we  should  be 
accused  of  sentimentality  ourselves,  brought  the  dog  what  we 
strongly  suspect  to  have  been  her  own  dinner,  and  stood  by 
while  he  ate  it.  Robin,  poor  dog  !  made  many  friends  during 
his  solitary  watch,  under  the  burning  prison-wall ;  for  the 
people  who  pass  by  Millbank  are  mostly  of  the  class  whose 
highest  idea  of  virtue  is  a  certain  blind  self-sacrificing  devotion 
—  (reasons  of  such  devotion,  or  merit  of  object,  not  to  be  in 
quired  into  by  respectable  folks,  if  you  please). 

So  Robin  kept  wratch  in  the  burning  sun,  and  got  himself 
precariously  fed  by  thieves  and  thieves'  wives.  Sometimes 
the  great  door  behind  him  would  be  opened,  and  then  he  would 
lope  out  into  the  middle  of  the  street,  and,  with  his  head  on 
one  side,  peer  eagerly  up  the  dim  vista  of  whitewashed  pas- 


204  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

sages  beyond.  The  blue-coated  warders  would  whistle  to 
him,  and  say,  "  Here,  poor  fellow  ! "  but  he  would  only  shake 
his  long  drooping  tail  for  an  instant,  almost  imperceptibly,  and 
stand  where  he  was.  If  there  was  a  stranger  present,  the 
blue-coated  warders  would  tell  him  that  that  was  the  dog  of  a 
young  swell  they  had  got  inside  for  duelling,  and  that  that  dog 
had  been  there  for  above  a  week.  Then  the  door  would  be 
shut  again,  and  Robin  would  take  his  old  post  in  the  sun,  and 
catch  the  flies. 

For  more  than  ten  days  he  stayed  there.  At  the  end  of 
that  time  he  went  away.  The  great  door  was  open  one  day, 
and  three  or  four  warders  were  standing  about.  Robin  had 
gone  into  the  middle  of  the  street,  when  a  very  tall,  handsome 
young  man  came  walking  by  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  prison. 

He  nearly  stumbled  over  Robin.  When  Robin  saw  him  he 
leaped  upon  him,  and  the  young  man  caught  him  in  his  bosom. 
And  the  young  man  was  of  the  Scotch  nation,  for  he  said,  — 

"It's  his  ain  dog,  if  it's  no  his  ain  self.  What,  Robin,  boy, 
do  ye  mind  Gil  Macdonald,  and  the  bonny  hillsides  of  Ron- 
aidsay ! " 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

So  went  matters  outside  the  prison-door,  in  the  bright  sum 
mer  sunshine.  Inside  that  door  a  generous,  noble-minded, 
unselfish  young  man ;  a  young  man  who  had,  in  his  time, 
according  to  the  light  which  had  been  shown  him,  his  lofty 
aspirations  towards  the  only  good  he  knew  of,  political  and 
social  success;  was  left  without  a  friend  or  a  hope,  beating 
himself  to  desperation  and  death  against  his  prison-bars.  Dare 
you  come  in  ? 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  265 

But,  in  going,  we  may  take  this  comfort  with  us :  Austin 
would  have  required  very  long  drilling  to  have  made  a  high 
place  in  public  life.  Of  that  I  feel  quite  sure.  He  was  far 
too  impulsive  and  thoughtless — far  too  prone  to  believe  the 
last  thing  which  was  told  him,  to  accept  the  last  theory  put 
before  him,  and  to  say  that  it  must  be  the  best  —  to  have  suc 
ceeded.  Practice  would  have  given  him  the  power  of  closing 
his  ears  to  argument,  and  acting  only  on  foregone  conclusions. 
Practice  might  have  given  him  the  trick  of  listening  to  his 
opponent,  and,  ignoring  all  his  sound  arguments,  catching  him 
when  he  tripped  ;  would  have,  in  time,  formed  him  into  a 
shallow  and  untruthful  debater,  of  the  third  class,  like  — 
(Heaven  help  us,  where  are  we  getting  to  now?)  He  was 
born  for  nobler  things  than  to  be  a  little  dog,  doing  the  barking 
for  big  dogs,  with  thick  skins  and  strong  nerves,  who  meant 
biting.  He  would,  I  fear,  have  dropped  into  a  low  place. 
His  habit  of  seeing  the  best  side  of  all  opinions,  and  of  hav 
ing  none  of  his  own,  his  terror  of  adverse  criticism,  and  his 
almost  childish  anger  against  opponents,  would  have  made  him 
but  a  poor  man  for  public  life.  He  would  have  successively 
believed  all  creeds,  till  he  had  none  of  his  own. 

That  June  morning  we  know  of,  they  shut  the  gate  behind 
him,  and  he  knew  that  it  was  all  over  and  done.  He  felt  that 
he  had  died  his  first  death,  and  that  the  clang  of  that  door  was 
as  the  rattling  of  the  earth  on  his  coffin.  At  that  moment,  he 
saw,  so  great  is  Divine  mercy,  among  the  burnt  ashes  of  his 
past  life,  one  gleaming  spark  of  hope  ;  he  had,  at  all  events, 
seen  the  worst,  short  of  death ;  he  was  young  and  the  worlt 
was  large;  his  imprisonment  would  be  over  soon,  only  a  year. 
The  world  was  very  large.  There  were  other  worlds  besides 
this  cruel,  inexorable  English  one. 

*•     But  that  spark  of  hope  disappeared- for  a  time,  when  the 
sordid,  unbeautiful  realities  of  his  prison-life  began  to  be  felt. 
12 


266  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

His  idea  was,  that  he  would  be  locked  up  between  four  walls, 
and  left  to  eat  his  heart,  until  his  time  was  out.  Lucky  for 
him  it  was  not  so.  There  were  rules  in  that  prison  so  degrad 
ing  that  his  mere  loathing  of  them  kept  him  from  going  mad, 
—  little  acts  of  discipline  and  punctuality,  which,  in  his  sane 
mind,  he  would  have  acknowledged  as  necessary,  but  which 
now  irritated  him.  He  had  to  go  to  chapel  in  the  morning  ; 
he  had  to  come  out  to  the  door  of  his  cell,  and  touch  his  cap 
to  the  governor ;  and  to  do  other  things  worse  than  this,  — 
little  things,  which  he  would  not  so  much  have  cared  to  do 
when  free ;  little  things  which,  had  he  been  travelling  in  the 
desert  or  the  bush,  he  would  have  laughed  over,  yet  which 
now,  when  he  was  forced  to  do  them,  degraded  him.  He  did 
not  know  till  afterwards  that,  by  powerful  interest,  all  prison 
rules  possible  to  be  relaxed  had  been  relaxed  in  his  favor. 
He  did  not  know  that  the  honest  martinet  of  a  governor  was 
in  a  state  of  indignation  about  the  relaxation  of  those  rules, 
and  held,  very  properly,  that  there  was  no  such  thing  as  rank 
and  influence,  in  his  republic.  Austin  did  not  know  this.  He 
did  not  notice,  until  he  came  out  among  the  other  convicts, 
that  he,  of  all  there,  was  the  only  one  whose  hair  was  uncut, 
and  who  wore  his  own  clothes.  Then  he  began  to  have  a 
faint  inkling  that  he  was  being  treated  leniently,  and  to  think 
that  they  had  done  kindly  by  him  in  not  yielding  to  his  wi.-h  ; 
for  he  had  asked  them  the  first  morning,  when  they  made  him 
go  to  chapel,  why  they  would  not  let  him  lie  on  his  bed,  and 
die  quietly. 

It  was  a  long  while  before  he  mixed  with  the  other  convicts 
there.  The  first  night  he  was  brought  in  he  did  not  sleep  at 
all ;  there  was  a  booming  in  his  ears  all  through  the  short 
summer  night,  and  the  power  of  connected  thought  was  gone. 

At  seven  he  had  dropped  into  a  short,  uneasy  slumber; 
then  a  great  bell  had  runs',  and  the  warder  had  waked  him 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  267 

for  chapel.  He  asked  him  why  he  could  not  let  him  die  in 
peace.  But  he  must  come  to  chapel. 

So  he  slouched  in  with  a  hot,  heavy  head,  and  slouched  out 
again.  At  the  door  he  saw  a  warder,  and,  looking  on  him 
with  eyes  which,  though  dull  and  lustreless,  had  a  momentary 

spark  of  ferocity  in  them,  asked  him  where  the he  was 

to  go  next  ? 

"  To  his  cell,"  the  man  said,  quietly,  and  not  unkindly. 

Poor  Austin  blundered  on,  he  knew  not  whither,  he  knew 
not  for  how  long.  He  knew  not  where  his  cell  was.  He 
went  on  for,  what  seemed  to  his  fading  intellect,  hours. 
Through  one  long  whitewashed  corridor  after  another  ;  at  last 
there  were  stairs,  and  he  went  down,  down,  holding  on  by  the 
balustrade. 

At  the  end  was  an  open  court  where  many  convicts  were 
washing  themselves  ;  when  they  saw  Austin  they  began 
whistling  and  jeering  at  him.  He  did  not  mind  it,  but  stood 
blinking  in  the  sunshine,  peering  about  him,  till  they  all 
stopped  whistling  and  talking,  and  remained  quite  silent,  — 
quite  silent,  poor  wretches  ;  for  Austin,  as  he  stood  there  in 
the  sunshine,  was  a  strange  sight  to  look  on.  His  personal 
beauty,  always  great,  was  rather  enhanced  by  the  /ever-flush 
on  his  check,  and  the  great  passionate  gfjg1 eyes i  were* 'now, 
with  the  pupils  enormously  dilated,  staring  with  the  fixed  look 
of  incipient  delirium. 

Unimaginative  fellows,  these  convicts.  After  a  moment's 
silence,  one  of  them,  as  spokesman,  said,  "  That  cove  's  ill !  " 
and  this  so  well  expressed  the  feelings  of  the  community,  that 
they  went  on  washing  themselves,  and  comparing  notes  about 
the  Past  and  the  Future  ;  about  what  had  been  done,  and  what, 
please  Heaven,  would  yet  be  done  (in  their  line  of  business), 
leaving  Austin  to  the  care  of  the  warder. 

Austin  petulantly  appealed  to  him.     "  They  told  me  to  go 


2G8  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

to  my  cell,  but  I  can't  find  it.  They  have  taken  all  my  money 
away,  or  I  would  give  you  five  pounds  to  take  me  back,  and 
put  me  on  my  bed;  and  I  can't  promise  you  anything  for  cer 
tain,  because  the  Crown  has  a  claim  on  my  property  ;  but  if 
you  will  take  me  back  to  my  bed,  I  pledge  you  my  honor  as  a 
gentleman,  that  Miss  Hilton  will  give  you  five  pounds.  It  is 
all  broken  off  between  us  now,  you  understand,  —  and,  per 
haps,  she  has  not  used  me  well,  but  she  will  give  you  that.  I 
want  to  lie  down  and  die.  Come,  now,  I  would  do  it  for  you. 
"VYe  are  all  the  same  flesh  and  blood,  convicts  and  warders,  and 
"Whigs  and  Tories.  If  I  had  taken  care,  and  not  broken  God's 
laws,  I  might  have  been  a  warder,  in  time,  you  know,  when  I 
was  fit  for  it ;  and  if  you  had  gone  out  with  the  friend  of  your 
heart  on  one  accursed  May  morning,  and  seen  him  tumble 
dead  at  your  feet,  you  might  have  been  a  convict.  If  I  had 
been  warder,  and  you  convict,  and  you  had  come  to  me  with 
your  head  whirling  round,  and  ten  thousand  remorseless  devils 
tearing  at  your  heart,  and  asked  me  to  lead  you  to  your  cell, 
to  die  in  peace,  I  would  have  done  it ;  by  God,  I  would ! 
Come,  now  ! " 

Poor  Austin  !  He  was  near  getting  release  from  all  his 
troubles  for  a  time  ;  he  was  in  the  first  stage  of  a  brain-fever. 
The  warder  quietly  and  kindly  took  him  back  to  his  cell,  com 
forting  him  with  such  comfort  as  a  prison-warder  has  to  give. 
He  never  claimed  five  pounds  from  Miss  Hilton  or  from  Aus 
tin  ;  he  never  thought  about  what  Austin  had  said  any  more. 
But  his  kindness  to  poor,  delirious  Austin  was  the  best  day's 
work  he  ever  did  in  his  life.  Austin  was  partly  delirious, 
and  never  remembered  one  word  of  what  passed.  The  man 
never  told  his  own  story  ;  therefore,  how  came  it,  that  after 
all  this  miserable  business  was  over,  in  happier  times  than 
these,  this  warder  found  his  private  affairs  inquired  into  ;  found 
that  the  inquirers  had  discovered  that  he,  the  warder,  had 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  2  GO 

started  in  life  as  a  farmer,  and  had  incontinently  failed  in 
consequence  of  trying  some  of  Mechi's  experiments  without 
Mechi's  money,  and  had  been  bankrupt,  and  glad  to  be  made 
a  warder  at  Millbank  ?  How  was  it  that  this  warder  found 
himself  asked,  as  a  personal  favor,  to  come,  with  a  salary  of 
£  250  a  year,  and  superintend  a  certain  model  farm  on  a  cer 
tain  island  ?  Which  splendid  rise  in  life  was  the  consequence 
of  his  kindness  to  Austin  on  this  morning. 

Austin  was  delirious,  and  remembered  nothing  of  it.  He 
never  told  his  story.  There  were  none  but  -convicts  by.  One 
of  them  must  have  told  his  story  for  him.  Yes,  there  was  one 
convict,  a  very  young  man,  with  a  foolish,  weak  face,  who  had 
come  towards  Austin  the  moment  he  saw  him  come  into  the 
yard,  and  had  watched  him  with  a  look  of  eager  curiosity,  who 
had  heard  it  all.  This  young  convict  was  the  maker  of  that 
warder's  fortunes. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

AUSTIN  got  back  to  his  cell,  and  somewhat  regained  his 
head  in  solitude.  He  lay  on  his  bed  all  day,  and  a  little  after 
dark  the  warder  before  mentioned  came  in,  and  got  him  to  go 
to  bed. 

He  slept  for  a  time,  not,  luckily,  for  very  long.  Then  he 
woke  with  a  feeling  of  horror  upon  him,  a  feeling  that  some 
thing  terrible  was  coming.  He  got  out  of  bed,  and  felt  for 
the  bell. 

Round  and  round  the  room,  from  end  to  end ;  how  damp 
and  cold  and  strange  the  walls  felt!  —  and  where  the  devil 
was  the  bell-rope?  His  servant,  he  knew,  slept  in  the  room 
overhead.  He  was  ill;  it  would  be  better  to  call  for  him. 


270  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

He  called  out,  "  Edward !  Edward ! "  many  times,  and 
\vaited  to  hear  the  door  above  open ;  but  it  did  not.  Con 
found  the  lad  !  —  why  should  he  choose  this  night,  of  all  oth 
ers,  to  be  out !  He  had  better  feel  his  way  into  bed  again, 
and  wait  till  he  heard  Edward  go  up-stairs.  He  began  feel 
ing  his  way  towards  his  bed  again,  but  he  did  not  get  to  it. 
In  a  moment  the  whole  ghastly  truth  came  before  him.  For 
one  instant  he  remembered  all  that  had  happened,  and  he 
knew  where  he  was.  Then  he  gave  a  wild  cry,  and  fell  down 
on  the  cold  stone  floor  insensible. 

The  warder  heard  him,  and  came  in.  He  got  him  on  to 
his  bed  again,  which  was  a  lucky  thing  for  Austin,  for  if  he 
had  lain  long  insensible  on  the  cold  stone  floor,  in  his  fever,  he 
would  have  died. 

His  fever  was  violent  and  obstinate  ;  he  was  often  delirious 
for  a  day  at  a  time.  He  knew  the  doctor  and  the  warder  now 
and  then.  At  the  end  of  ten  days  he  was  still  delirious,  but 
he  recognized  some  one  who  came  to  see  him  then. 

Gil  Macdonald,  pondering  about  many  things,  after  the  last 
terrible  famine  winter,  during  which  the  Ronaldsay  folk  had 
lived  on  rotten  potatoes,  seaweed,  and  limpets,  had  gotten  it 
into  his  head,  that  he  must,  as  soon  as  he  could  see  things  a 
bit  right,  and  save  money  enough,  go  south.  South,  —  from 
his  barren,  mountain  highland  home,  where  mighty  men,  such 
as  he,  were  eating  their  hearts  in  starvation  and  idleness,  — 
down  to  the  rich  country  of  England,  where  there  was  a 
career  and  fair  play  for  all;  where  a  "  long-leggit  hieland 
chiel"  might  find  his  place  among  these  broad-shouldered, 
gray-eyed,  thoughtful  English,  and  be  welcomed  as  a  friend, 
riot  as  a  rival.  Gil  had  heard  the  Mactavish  call  these  men 
"  Cockneys,"  by  which  he,  Gil,  understood  a  set  of  effeminate 
fellows,  enervated  by  living  in  a  warmer  climate.  But  Gil 
was  far  too  true  a  Scotchman  to  set  his  watch  by  the  Mactav- 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  271 

ish's  clock,  or  by  Christopher  North's  clock,  or  by  Professor 
Blackie's  clock ;  and  so  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion,  having 
heard  Englishmen,  who  had  come  north,  talking  of  England 
and  the  English,  that  they  were  a  very  manly  and  noble  set  of 
fellows ;  and  argued,  that  if  the  English  were  fools,  as  some 
tried  to  make  out,  so  much  the  better  for  him,  who  had  a 
strong  notion  that  he  was  not  a  fool.  If  they  were  the  fellows 
he  thought,  why  then  it  would  be  all  the  better  to  live  among 
them. 

Besides,  Austin  Elliot  was  an  Englishman,  and  lived  in 
England,  and  Austin  Elliot  was  the  one  person  around  whom 
most  of  Gil's  hopes  for  the  future  grouped  themselves.  Aus 
tin  was  the  most  heroic  and  amiable  person  he  had  ever  seen, 
and  the  memory  of  him  was,  perhaps,  brighter  in  the  Scotch 
man's  mind  than  the  reality.  But  he  must  first  get  south  and 
see  Austin.  If  Austin  could  help  him,  he  would ;  if  he  could 
not,  at  all  events  Gil  would  see  him  again,  —  that  would  be 
something.  So  strange  was  the  admiration  of  this  young  man 
for  Austin,  he  being  in  many  points  —  not  unimportant  ones 
—  somewhat  Austin's  superior. 

One  brilliant  June  morning  he  landed  from  the  Leith  steam 
boat,  and  strode  wondering  along  the  streets,  looking  at  the 
names  over  the  shop-doors  to  see  for  a  Highland  one.  Hav 
ing  "  speired  "  of  one  MacAlister,  who  was  taking  down  his 
shutters,  and  whose  personal  appearance  gave  Gil  the  highest 
hopes,  he  did  as  he  was  told ;  he  walked  "  aye  west "  for  eight 
miles  or  more  toward  Mortlake,  where  Mr.  Elliot  had  lived. 
He  found  Stanhope  House,  and  rang,  waiting  for  an  answer 
with  a  beating  heart. 

Old  Mr.  Elliot,  the  servant  told  him,  had  been  dead  above 
a  year;  young  Mr.  Elliot  lived  at  such  a  number  in  Pall 
Mall. 

So  Gil,  resting  a  little  and  taking  a  frugal  meal  at  a  public 


•272  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

house,  strode  eastward  again,  carefully  asking  his  way  at 
Scotch  shops  only,  —  not  that  he  was  distrustful  by  nature, 
but  only  cautious  ;  and  it  was  an  unco  muckle  city,  arid  a 
stranger  didna  ken.  So  he  asked  his  way  at  the  Scotch  shops 
only. 

Feeling  his  way,  with  many  mistakes,  he  came  at  last  to 
Pall  Mall.  Here  he  made  his  only  non-Scotch  inquiry  that 
d:iy.  Seeing  a  handsome,  good-natured-looking  young  dandy, 
very  like  Austin,  standing  at  a  corner,  he  took  courage  to  ask 
him  whether  or  no  that  was  Paul  Maul.  The  young  gentleman 
answered  civilly  that  it  was  Pell  Hell.  This  made  poor  Gil 
fancy  that  he  had  gone  wrong  again  ;  he  determined  to  trust 
none  but  his  fellow-countrymen  for  directions.  He  walked  on 
till  he  saw  a  Highland  name  over  a  shop,  and  went  in  and 
asked.  He  was  right  this  time.  The  house  at  which  he  de 
termined  to  ask  was  the  very  house  where  Austin  lived ;  he 
saw  that  by  the  number.  He  asked  the  landlord,  who  was  in 
his  shop,  unscrewing  the  breech  from  a  rifle,  whether  or  no 
Mr.  Elliot  lived  there. 

The  landlord,  hearing  the  dear  old  music  of  his  native  ac 
cent,  took  off  his  spectacles,  and  said  at  a  venture,  in  Gaelic,  — 

"  He  did  live  here,  God  forgive  us  ;  but  he  ,is  fretting  out 
his  brave  heart  in  prison  now,  my  son." 

Poor  Gil  sat  down.  In  prison.  He  remembered  almost 
the  last  words  they  had  spoken  together  at  Ronaldsay,  and  he 
felt  as  if  the  hand  of  God  had  smote  him. 

"In  prison!" 

"  Ay,  the  weary  day." 

"  I  have  followed  him  all  down  from  Ronaldsay,  all  the 
weary !  weary  way,  and  I  find  him  in  prison  at  the  end.  Do 
you  mean  the  same  man  as  I  ?  Do  you  mean  Mr.  Austin 
Elliot,  the  young  Saxon  Lord,  with  the  laughing  eyes,  that 
were  blue  like  Loch  Oil  and  Loch  na  Craig,  when  the  wind 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  273 

sweeps  down  on  them  from  Ben  More  on  a  June  morning  ? 
Have  they  dared  to  tie  up  the  stag  in  the  byre  ?  Have  they 
dared  to  put  the  salmon  in  the  goose-dub  ?  Had  they  dared 
to  chain  the  scolding  peregrine  on  the  popinjay  perch  ?  " 

Thus,  in  his  anger,  in  furious  Gaelic,  Ossiaiiically  spoke 
poor  Gil.  Alas !  it  appeared  they  had  dared  to  do  all  this, 
and  that  there  was  no  undoing  of  it  at  any  rate  whatever.  His 
fellow-countryman  had  him  into  his  parlor,  aftd  told  him  all 
about  what  had  happened.  And  when  Gil  had  grown  calmer, 
they  had  together  a  regular  good  Gaelic  palaver,  towards  the 
end  of  which  this  astounding  fact  was  discovered,  —  that  Gil's 
great-uncle's  second  wife  was  sister  to  the  Reverend  David 
Macpherson,  a  placed  minister,  who  had  served  Glen  Rams- 
horn  for  forty  years  ;  and  that  the  Reverend  David's  third 
sister  had  married  the  gunmaker's  own  uncle's  third  cousin, 
an  Aberdeen  stonemason,  whereby  it  was  as  clear  as  day  that 
Gil  was  the  gunmaker's  nephew.  So  Gil  was  good  for  a  bed 
in  Pall  Mall,  and,  if  need  were,  ten  pound  or  so,  for  the  rest  of 
his  life. 

That  afternoon  Gil  walked  down  to  the  prison,  by  the  river, 
to  see  what  he  could  do  with  regard  to  getting  at  Austin.  And 
there  he  found  Robin,  as  we  saw.  And  when  he  had  spoken 
to  one  or  two  of  the  warders,  he  came  back  again  to  Pall  Mall, 
and  brought  Robin  with  him  ;  and  then,  taking  off  his  coat  and 
baring  his  great  arms,  he  set  to  work  and  cleaned  guns,  while 
Robin  lay  beside  him,  with  his  nose  between  his  paws,  and 
watched  him  contentedly.  Long  into  the  night  he  worked,  a 
patient,  intelligent  giant,  holding  the  creed  that  a  man  was  born 
to  do  the  work  he  found  to  his  hand,  and  that  when  the  work 
was  done  it  would  get  paid  for  in  some  form.  And,  next  morn 
ing,  when  the  sleepy  apprentices  came  lumbering  down-stairs, 
there  was  Gil  again,  hard  at  it,  having  had  a  few  hours'  sleep 
on  the  sofa,  in  the  parlor,  with  Robin.  A  true  Scotchman, 


274  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

going  on  their  old  good  plan  of  showing  what  they  were  worth 
before  they  bargained  for  their  wages. 

This  appearance  of  Gil  Macdonald  was  very  important  for 
Austin,  or  I  would  not  have  dwelt  on  it.  For  the  fact  is  this, 
that  Gil  Macdonald  was  the  only  person  who  ever  went  near 
Austin  during  his  imprisonment.  Some  cast  him  off,  and  some 
were  prevented  from  going  near  him  ;  we  shall  know  who 
were  in  the  former  and  who  in  the  latter  category  soon. 
Meanwhile  Gil  Macdonald  was  the  one  link  between  Austin 
and  the  world  he  had  left. 

The  gunmaker,  Austin's  landlord,  Gil's  kinsman !  was  a 
west-end  tradesman,  and  knew  intimately  some  very  great 
people.  So,  next  morning,  when  Gil,  after  doing  the  work  of 
ten  men,  proposed,  at  breakfast,  the  utterly  untradesmanlike 
scheme  of  adopting  the  plan  of  the  creature  Donald,  in  "  Rob 
Roy,"  —  to  wit,  getting  himself  made  warder,  letting  Austin 
out,  pitching  the  keys  into  the  Thames,  and  then  —  and  then 
(that  part  of  the  plan  not  developed  yet),  —  at  this  time,  I  say, 
the  gunmaker,  seeing  that  his  kinsman's  notion  of  morality 
would  not  do  in  such  a  southern  latitude,  rebuked  him  severe 
ly ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  bethought  himself  of  a  certain  great 
man,  a  customer,  and  coolly  waited  on  that  great  man,  in  his 
dressing-room,  for  the  purpose  of  showing  his  Lordship  the 
most  beautiful  pair  of  barrels  ever  forged. 

When  he  got  into  the  great  man's  presence,  on  these  cre 
dentials,  he  put  the  barrels  on  the  ground,  and  coolly  told  him 
that  he  had  merely  used  them  as  an  artifice  to  gain  an  audi 
ence  with  his  Lordship.  He  then  told,  shortly  and  quickly, 
knowing  that  time  was  precious  here,  Gil's  story,  and  made 
Gil's  request,  that  he  might  be  allowed  access  to  Austin. 

His  Lordship  was  very  much  interested  and  pleased.  "  By 
Gad,  Macpherson,"  he  said,  "  this  is  a  wicked  world.  They 
are  all  leaving  that  poor  fellow  there  to  die  in  his  desperation. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  275 

I  don't  say  anything  about  Edwa*rd  Barty ;  but  conceive  that 
wicked  little  thing  —  that  Miss  Hilton  —  having  had  the  in 
decency  to  bolt  abroad,  and  follow  that  blackleg  bully  Hert 
ford.  It  is  utterly  atrocious.  Your  request  is  granted  to  the 
full.  Let  this  young  fellow  have  access  to  this  poor  boy. 
You  are  a  good  fellow,  Macpherson,  and  this  young  High 
lander  must  be  another.  I  will  write  to  Captain  Somes  at 
once.  Good  morning." 

So  Gil  Macdonald  had  the  entree  to  Austin,  and  he  went  to 
see  him  that  afternoon. 

How  did  he  find  his  hero,  his  gallant  young  gentleman,  the 
man  to  whom  he  had  meant  to  come,  asking  humbly  that  he 
might  follow  his  glorious  fortunes  !  He  had  found  him  at 
last. 

Here  he  was,  on  the  narrow  prison-bed,  in  the  half-lighted 
cell,  in  a  close,  dead  atmosphere,  which  made  poor  Gil  breathe 
hard,  as  though  he  had  been  running.  Here  he  was,  deserted 
by  every  one,  all  his  beauty  gone,  with  his  great  blue  eyes 
staring  in  the  madness  of  his  fever ;  here  he  was,  delirious 
and  alone,  crying  continually  for  help,  night  and  day,  to  those 
who  never  answered  and  who  never  came. 

But  he  knew  Gil,  and  Gil  said,  "  Thank  God  for  that ! " 
He  knew  him  even  in  his  madness,  and  stretched  out  his 
fevered  hands  towards  him,  and  said  how  long  he  had  been 
coming ;  but  that  now  he  was  come,  they  would  get  away 
together  to  the  glens  of  Ronaldsay,  and  wander  by  the  cool 
streams  among  the  green  shadows  of  the  wood  by  the  water 
falls.  And  they  would  go  together  up  into  the  dark,  cool 
caves,  and  watch  the  blue  sea  out  beyond,  in  the  burning  sun  ; 
and  he  would  bathe  in  the  linn,  and  his  head  would  get  cold 
again,  and  then  his  reason  would  come  back.  But  he  would 
never  come  near  the  wicked  town  any  more.  His  head,  he 
told  Gil,  had  got  heated  with  sitting  up  in  the  gallery  of  the 


276  AUSTIN   ELLIOT. 

Commons  so  long,  and  hearing  the  weary  debates.  But  that 
was  all  past  and  gone  forever.  Charles  Barty  was  dead,  and 
they  were  all  dead  but  he  and  Gil ;  and  they,  too,  must  get 
away  to  Ronaldsay,  and  leave  the  hot  streets  and  the  cruel, 
lying  crowds,  that  haunted  clubs  and  such  places,  and  lied 
about  men  until  they  went  mad.  .They  must  get  away  from 
these  into  the  mountains,  and  end  their  days  in  peace. 

Gil  told  all  this  to  the  gunmaker  and  his  wife  that  night, 
over  a  frugal  supper.  It  was  not  told  or  heard  without  tears. 
Those  three  leal  and  trusty  Scotch  bodies  made  a  compact, 
that,  though  all  the  world  had  deserted  poor  Austin,  yet  they 
would  stay  by  him  to  the  death.  Then  the  gunmaker  and  his 
wife  went  to  bed,  and  Gil  and  Robin  went  into  the  shop. 

Gil  cleaned  guns  till  there  were  no  more  to  clean.  Gil 
cleaned  guns,  making  himself  grimy  beyond  conception.  Then 
he  remembered  that  one  of  the  apprentices  had  been  ordered 
to  clean  a  certain  gun-lock  the  first  thing  to-morrow  morning. 
And  he  got  possession  of  this  lock  and  a  certain  book,  and 
pored  over  them  both,  while  Robin  lay  with  his  nose  on  his 
paws,  and  watched  him  with  bright  clear  eyes.  After  half  an 
hour  with  lock  and  book  before  him,  Gil  began  to  understand 
the  difference  between  main-spring,  sear-spring,  sear,  and  the 
rest  of  it,  as  well  as  he  would  have  done  after  a  wet  morning, 
in  the  class-room  at  Hythe.  Then  he  asked  himself  what  Avas 
the  matter  with  this  particular  lock  ?  Then  he  compared  it 
with  a  newly  cleaned  one,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  sear-spring  was  clogged  with  oil.  And  then  at  twelve 
o'clock  he  took  the  work  to  pieces.  This  was  a  bold  and 
remarkable  action,  but  what  is  more  remarkable,  before  half 
past  one  he  had  cleaned  that  lock,  and  put  it  together  again 
(which  is  not  so  easy  a  matter,  particularly  when  you  have  no 
one  to  show  you  the  difference  between  the  bridle-pin  and  the 
other  pins).  When  he  had  done  this  he  felt  proud,  and  almost 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  277 

happy,  in  spite  of  his  poor  hero,  who  was  raving  there  in  his 
prison  cell. 

Almost  happy  ;  nay.  possibly  quite,  for  this  reason.  Gil  had 
the  great  want  of  his  heart,  the  great  craving  of  his  whole  life, 
satisfied  at  last.  He  hardly  knew  it.  He  knew  only  this,  that 
in  Ronaldsay.  he  had  always  felt  that  he  was  a  man  lost  and 
thrown  away,  —  a  man  capable  of  he  knew  not  what,  and  with 
out  means  of  finding  out.  Now  he  found  that  this  gunsmith's 
work,  little  as  he  knew  of  it,  little  as  he  had  done  of  it,  was 
in  some  way  filling  up  a  void  in  his  heart.  The  fact  was,  that 
Gil,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  had  got  to  WORK,  and  he  was 
as  satisfied  over  it  as  is  a  dog  when  he  gnaws  a  bone.  The 
feeling  of  an  Englishman,  a  Scotchman,  and  one  kind  of  Irish 
man,  over  his  work,  is  similar  to  that  of  a  Turk  over  his  pipe. 
It  is  a  sedative.  But  in  the  one  case,  the  results  contribute 
more  towards  human  well-being  than  in  the  other. 

In  spite  of  his  late  night  over  the  work,  Gil  was  tinkering 
in  the  shop  before  the  two  apprentices  came  sleepily  squab 
bling  down  stairs.  He  went  to  Austin  again  that  day,  but 
Austin  was  as  bad  as  ever,  and  was  as  bad  as  ever  for  many 
days.  Still  Gil  wras  always  with  him.*  Gil  grew  grimier 
and  smelt  stronger  of  train-oil  as  time  went  on,  until  the 
brave  young  kilted  Highlander  had  grown  into  a  smudgy 
gunsmith  in  a  leather  aporn ;  all  the  romantic  beauty  of  his 
personal  appearance  gone  clean  away  to  the  free  winds  of 
heaven.  Sad  degradation  indeed !  That  he,  the  untamed 
stag  of  the  mountain,  should  condescend  to  this !  That  Gil, 
the  idle  Highlander,  should  develop  into  Gil  the  sage,  shrewd, 
diligent  young  smith !  Worse  still,  that  our  taste  should  be 
so  depraved,  as  to  make  us  admire  him  the  more,  the  more 
eager,  diligent,  and  grimier  he  grew. 

There  came  a  morning,  when  the  warders  reported  to  Gil, 
on  his  visiting  the  prison,  that  Austin  was  better,  and  had 


278  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

gone  to  sleep.  He  waited  till  he  woke,  and  then  Austin's 
reason  had  returned,  and  he  knew  Gil  in  reality ;  not  as  he 
had  in  his  fever,  as  only  one  of  the  figures  in  the  perpetual 
shadow-dance  which  went  on  before  his  eyes,  in  which  Gil's 
figure  was  only  a  little  more  real  than  the  others.  In  a  week 
from  this  time  he  was  convalescent,  and  then  they  began  to 
consult. 

The  first  thing  done  was  this:  Austin  wrote  to  his  at 
torney,  Mr.  Compton,  asking  him  whether  or  no  the  Crown 
had  made  any  claim  on  his  property.  He  wrote  a  very  cold, 
stiff'  note,  for  he  was  indignant.  The  old  man  had  never 
come  near  him  in  his  illness.  His  note  was  answered  by 
the  old  man's  junior  partner,  Mr.  Brogden.  It  appeared  that 
the  anxiety  and  worry  caused  by  Austin's  trial  and  convic 
tion  had  ended  by  Mr.  Compton's  being  laid  up  by  a  very 
serious  attack  of  illness.  Mr.  Brogden  proceeded  to  tell 
Austin  that  the  Crown  had  made  no  claim  on  his  property, 
and  would  certainly,  he  believed,  make  none,  provided  Mr. 
Elliot  remained  perfectly  quiet,  and  let  the  whole  matter  slip 
by.  It  would  be  better  for  Mr.  Elliot  not  to  communicate 
with  their  office  any  more  till  better  times.  Clerks  would 
talk.  Some  of  the  newspapers  had  been  troublesome  over 
his  case.  The  new  Secretary  was  very  well  disposed  to  Mr. 
Elliot,  but  they  must  be  quiet.  Mr.  Elliot  might  trust  them, 
and  — 

"  The  new  Secretary ! "  bounced  out  Austin.  "  Is  Peel  out 
then?  Good  heavens!  Surely  the  Lords  have  not  dared! 
But  what  does  it  matter  to  me  ?  " 

Gil  felt  horribly  guilty.  The  fact  was,  that  he  had  been 
so  busy  with  his  guns,  that  he  did  not  actually  know  whether 
Peel  was  in  or  out.  He  felt  very  foolish,  and  spoke  of  other 
things.  But  that  night,  when  we  went  home,  he  made  his 
kinsman  prime  him  with  the  details  of  the  great  Corn-law 


AUSTIN   ELLIOT.  279 

storm,  which  had  passed  so  high  over  his  head,  without  mov 
ing  his  hair  ;  and  the  next  day  was  enabled  to  tell  Austin  that 
the  Lords  had  not  dared  ;  that  the  Bill  was  law ;  and  that  Sir 
Robert  had  come  to  grief  over  the  Irish  Arms  Bill.  He  was 
so  busy  over  his  gun-cleaning  business,  that  he  had  not  time  to 
ask  what  Irish  arms  were.  If  he  had  been  made  to  say  what 
his  notion  of  the  Irish  Arms  Bill  was,  he  would  probably  have 
thought  that  it  was  the  account  rendered  to  Parliament,  for 
certain  casualties  at  Donnybrook  Fair.  After  this  he  in 
formed  himself  about  politics,  but  on  this  occasion  he  was 
relieved,  when  Austin  said  to  him,  — 

"  Gil,  never  let  you  and  I  speak  of  these  things  again.  My 
imprisonment  here  renders  me  politically  dead.  I  cannot  tell 
you,  because  I  have  no  strength  to  tell  you,  how  hideous  my 
silly  boy's  dream  of  succeeding  in  politics,  without  one  single 
qualification,  seems  to  me  now.  The  Corn-bill  has  passed, 
and  has  crushed  me  under  its  wheels  in  passing.  Let  us  talk 
no  more  of  these  things.  I  have  to  begin  life  again ;  I  will, 
God  help  me,  begin  it  in  another  spirit." 

It  was  all  very  well  for  Austin  to  talk  like  this  to  Gil,  but 
it  had  not  very  much  effect  on  him.  Austin's  sad  example 
was  no  use  to  Gil.  His  kinsman  was  a  politician ;  and  after 
his  first  inquiries  into  politics  for  Austin's  sake,  he  began 
making  more  for  his  own.  He  began  to  take  a  strong  interest 
in  the  matter,  and  in  a  month  could  give  his  opinion,  and  defend 
it.  His  frame  of  mind  at  the  end  of  a  month  was  Radical. 

Gil's  next  enterprise,  on  Austin's  behalf,  was  to  go  secretly 
to  Wilton  Crescent,  and  to  find  out  where  Miss  Hilton  was, 
and  what. she  was  doing.  This  was  to  be  a  very  secret  expedi 
tion  indeed.  Gil  performed  it  with  all  his  Scotch  caution. 
But  his  caution  was  unnecessary.  He,  knowing  nothing, 
bluntly  brought  back  this  intelligence,  —  that  Miss  Hilton, 
with  her  aunt,  her  butler,  and  the  rest  of  her  household,  had 


280  AUSTIN   ELLIOT. 

started  for  the  Continent,  the  day  after  the  duel.  There  was 
no  one  in  the  house  but  a  charwoman. 

Then  Austin  turned  his  face  to  the  wall.  This  was  the 
hardest  of  all.  She  had  deserted  him,  then  !  He  could  for 
give  Lord  Edward  Barty,  —  nay,  he  would  dread  to  see  him. 
He  could  forgive  his  father's  old  friends ;  they  had  never  liked 
him  since  he  had  turned  Radical.  But  for  her  to  have  de 
serted  him,  and  thrown  herself  into  the  arms  of  that  dog  Hert 
ford,  —  ah  !  this  was  very,  very  bitter ! 

That  she,  who  could  make  those  religious  pilgrimages  to 
such  strange  places  in  such  strange  company,  could  not  have 
come  to  see  him,  or  to  ask  after  him,  in  his  misery !  If  she 
had  only  sent '  old  James  !  Could  she  have  known  that  he 
distrusted  her  after  that  morning,  —  that  miserable  morning 
before  the  last  debate,  when  he  had  seen  her  in  company  with 
Hertford?  Cvuld  she  have  known  of  the  cruel  words  he 
spoke  of  her  to  Lord  Charles  Barty  ?  If  she  knew  these 
things,  it  might  account  for  her  neglect.  She  might  be  angry 
with  him  ;  she  might  have  gone  abroad  in  a  pique. 

No,  no !  she  could  not  have  known  it.  She  must  be  false, 
false  !  She  must  be  falser  than  it  is  possible  to  conceive. 
And  he,  poor  fool !  loved  her  more  than  ever,  —  loved,  that  is 
to  say,  the  quiet,  calm  little  woman  who  used  to  sit  with  folded 
hands  in  church,  —  loved  her,  in  fact,  as  she  used  to  be,  the 
old,  quiet,  patient  Eleanor,  who  existed  no  longer. 

He  did  not  love  her  as  she  was  now,  then  ?  Ah,  yes !  that 
was  the  bitterest  part  of  it.  Fallen,  base  as  she  \vas,  he  loved 
her  more  than  ever.  It  was  well  that  he  should  turn  his  face 
to  the  wall. 

I  have  shown  you,  with  most  inexorable  justice,  all  the 
worst  points  in  his  character.  Most  of  them  —  such  as  his 
flippancy,  his  want  of  earnestness,  and  other  faults  of  this 
class,  which  he  shared  with  many  young  men  —  were  faults 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  281 

of  education.  These  died  a  natural  death  the  moment  the 
prison-gate  slammed  behind  him,  and  he  was  brought  face  to. 
face  with  reality.  But  his  worst  fault  —  a  certain  jealous 
pride,  showing  itself  outwardly  in  almost  hysterical  anger  — 
remained  there  yet.  And  now,  before  he  rose  from  his  nar 
row-prison-bed,  he  saw  that  it  was  there,  and  set  to  work  to 
conquer  it. 

He  thought  over  his  life,  and  he  saw  that  fault  staring 
out  on  two  or  three  occasions,  in  a  very  ugly  manner.  He 
remembered  Miss  Cecil,  and  his  furious  anger  at  everything 
in  heaven  and  earth,  when  he  found  out  that  she  was  to  marry 
Lord  Mewstone.  He  blushed  at  this,  and  tried  to  forget  it, 
but  could  not. 

Then  he  began  thinking  of  the  poor  fellow  who  was  dead, 
of  poor  Lord  Charles.  How  often  had  he  half  quarrelled 
with  him  at  school,  when  he  had  been  jealous  because  the 
dead  man  had  been  friendly  with  some  other  boy,  and  Austin 
had  fancied  himself  neglected.  How  often,  later  than  this, 
had  he  been  fractious  and  rude  with  him,  merely  because  their 
social  positions  were  so  different,  and  because  he,  Austin,  was 
afraid  of  being  called  a  tuft-hunter.  He  remembered  now 
five  hundred  things  which  he  had  said  to  his  friend  who  was 
gone,  which  he  would  have  given  the  world  to  recall,  but 
which  could  never  be  recalled. 

Again  :  had  he  done  his  duty  by  that  poor,  dead  brother  of 
Eleanor's,  at  Eton  ?  No,  he  had  not.  He  had  been  too  much 
ashamed  of  him.  He  had  been  angry  and  indignant  at  that 
boy's  very  existence.  That  he  and  Lord  Charles,  with  their 
sublime,  high  and  mighty  boy-aspirations,  should  have  a  boy 
given  to  thieving  forced  en  their  company,  —  it  had  been  in 
tolerable.  Now  that  he  was  in  prison  himself,  he  thought  that, 
perhaps,  a  little  more  genial  kindness,  a  little  less  high-handed 
patronage,  might  have  saved  that  boy.  But  it  was  too  late. 


282  AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  ^ 

Lastly,  he  began  thinking  about  Eleanor  herself.  The  old 
Adam  was  a  little  too  strong  for  him  here,  yet.  For  he  had 
trusted  her  as  woman  was  never  trusted  before.  lie  had  let 
her  go  those  mysterious  pilgrimages  of  hers,  down  into  this 
very  Millbank  quarter,  dressed  in  her  maid's  clothes,  and 
asked  no  questions.  And  at  last,  he  had  found  her  walking 
arm  in  arm,  in  the  lowest  part  of  the  town,  with  the  accursed 
Hertford.  He  could  not  accuse  himself  here.  Not  yet. 

And  now  she  had  deserted  him  in  his  trouble,  and  gone 
abroad  after  that  man  — 

Still  he  recognized  the  fact,  that  all  through  his  life  there 
had  been  a  tendency  to  jealousy  and  suspicion,  and  he  deter 
mined,  even  now,  that  if  Eleanor  could  ever  clear  herself  to 
him,  that  he  would  forgive  her,  —  would  tell  her  so,  and  part 
with  her  forever.  But  still,  could  she  clear  herself  ten  times 
over,  his  duty  was  evident.  He  would  never  link  his  ruined 
fortunes  to  hers.  If  she  had  been  penniless,  it  would  have 
been  a  different  matter.  But  as  it  was,  it  was  perfectly  clear 
it  would  be  dishonorable,  after  what  had  happened,  to  renew 
his  intercourse  with  her.  The  world  would  never  hold  him 
blameless  if  he  did. 

The  end  of  poor  Austin's  illness  was  also  the  culminating 
point  of  his  misfortunes ;  after  this,  his  affairs  began  to  mend, 
—  very,  very  slowly,  but  still  to  mend.  When  he  rose  from 
his  sick-bed,  and  began  to  walk  about  his  prison,  there  were 
still  nine  months  of  confinement  before  him.  They  were  weary 
months  to  look  forward  to,  but  he  felt  he  could  get  through 
them  without  maddening  himself,  now  that  Gil  Macdonald  was 
coming  to  see  him  almost  daily.  In  his  present  state  of  weak 
ness  and  depression,  he  tried  to  think,  tried  to  hope,  that,  by 
mere  patience,  he  might  live  on  till  things  came  right  again. 
One  thing  only  now  was  unendurable.  Poor  Eleanor  was 
abroad,  alone  and  unprotected,  in  the  power  of  Captain  Hert- 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  283 

ford  and  her  aunt.  That  was  maddening  to  think  of.  Badly 
as  she  had  treated  him,  something  must  be  done  there.  He 
thought  the  matter  over  as  well  as  he  was  able.  There  seemed 
only  one  hope.  He  got  leave  from  the  governor,  and  wrote 
the  following  letter  to  Lord  Edward  Barty :  — 

"  MY  LORD, 

"  I  know  that  we  can  never  meet  again  as  friends  on  this 
side  of  the  grave.  I  know  the  horror  and  detestation  in  which 
you  must  hold  my  name,  after  the  late  catastrophe.  But  I  beg 
you,  in  God's  name,  to  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say. 

"  You  used  to  love  Eleanor  Hilton.  She  is  gone  abroad  un 
protected.  Her  aunt  has  taken  her  away  into  a  foreign  country, 
where  she  will  be  in  the  power  of  the  man  who  has  caused  all 
this  misery,  and  his  disreputable  companions. 

"  Now  I  ask  you,  who  have  so  often  knelt  and  prayed  by  her 
side,  whether  you  will  stand  by,  and  let  this  go  on.  If  you 
have  a  grain  of  chivalry  in  your  composition,  Edward,  you 
cannot,  you  dare  not.  I  swear  to  you,  Edward,  deeply  as  I 
love  you,  if  you,  knowing  what  you  know,  stand  by  and  do 
nothing,  that  I  will  cast  you  off  with  the  same  loathing  and 
contempt,  which  you  now  feel  for  me.  Eddy  !  Eddy  !  for  the 
sake  of  the  love  we  once  -bore  to  one  another,  you  will  save 
her. 

"  I  remain,  my  Lord, 

"  Your  Lordship's  obedient  servant, 

"  AUSTIN  ELLIOT." 

Gil  had  instructions  to  take  this  letter  to  Cheshire  House, 
and  to  put  it  into  Lord  Edward's  own  hands,  and  get  an  an 
swer.  Admiral  Villeneuve  had  instruction  to  form  a  junction 
with  the  fleet  of  Admiral  Gravina,  and  to  pound  and  blast  the 
British  fleet  from  off  the  face  of  the  waters.  Neither  Gil 


281:  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

Macdonald  nor  Admiral  Villeneuve  were  successful,  and  they 
both  had  strong  doubts  of  their  success  before  they  began  to 
execute  their  orders. 

When  Gil  (having  got  off  as  much  of  his  grimness  as  was 
possible)  reconnoitred  Cheshire  House,  his  heart  sank  within 
him.  The  house  stood  a  long  way  back  from  the  street,  and 
was  fronted  by  a  high  wall,  in  which  were  two  carriage-gates. 
In  one  of  these  gates  was  a  wicket,  and  Gil,  after  a  quarter  of 
an  hour's  watching,  became  aware  that  this  wall  and  gate  were 
the  outworks  of  the  place,  and  must  be  carried,  either  by  strat 
agem  or  force,  before  he  could  hope  to  do  his  errand. 

He  saw  a  great  many  people  come  and  ring  the  bell.  Most 
of  the  people  who  brought  letters  had  them  taken  by  the  por 
ter,  and  had  the  door  shut  in  their  faces.  This  would  not  do. 
Austin  had  told  him  to  put  his  letter  into  Lord  Edward's 
hand,  and  get  an  answer. 

At  last  he  opened  his  first  parallel.  He  rang  the  bell,  and 
asked  to  see  Lord  Edward.  The  porter  answered  civilly,  but 
shortly,  "  Out  of  town,"  and  Gil  retired  and  leaned  against  a 
lamp-post. 

The  thing  had  to  be  done,  and  must  be  done  somehow.  Gil 
only  knew  this  much  :  that  this  was  the  house  of  poor  Lord 
Charles's  father,  that  the  mention  of  Austin's  name  might  not 
be  a  good  passport  there,  and  that  he  must  be  cautious.  He 
was  very  much  puzzled.  If  Austin  had  sent  any  one  but  a 
very  cunning  Scot,  his  mission  might  have  failed  altogether. 
But  Gil,  with  his  patient,  vulpine  cunning,  succeeded  better 
probably  than  an  Englishman  or  Irishman  would  have  done. 
He  had  waited  some  time,  and  was  thinking  of  doing  all  sorts 
of  things,  when  the  wicket  was  opened,  and  a  fine  boy  of  about 
sixteen,  in  deep  mourning,  came  out,  and  walked  away  slowly 
along  the  street.  Gil  had  heard  the  porter  call  him,  "  My 
Lord." 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  285 

Gil  instantly  gave  chase,  and  overtook  this  lad. 

"  I  beg  yer  pardon,  young  sir,  ye  're  no  Lord  Edward  Barty, 
I'm  thinking?" 

"No;  my  name  is  George  Barty.  My  brother  Edward 
is  abroad.  Can  I  do  anything  for  you?" 

Gil  paused  an  instant ;  but  when  he  looked  again  into  the 
honest  face  of  the  lad  he  took  his  resolution. 

"  Yes,  young  sir  —  I  mean  my  Lord  —  ye  're  a  Lord,  are  ye 
no  ?  Open  this  letter,  and  gie  me  the  answer  to  take  back 
wie  me ;  for  he  loves  you  and  yours,  dearer  than  his  heart's 
bluid,  after  all  done." 

The  boy  opened  the  letter,  and  read  it.  He  gave  no 
ans\ver  at  first;  he  bit  his  lips  hard,  and  tried  not,  but  the 
tears  would  come.  Gil  walked  a  little  way  off,  and  looked 
at  the  sparrows  upon  the  house-top. 

At  last  the  boy  came  after  him,  and  touched  his  arm,  and 
said,  — 

"  Do  you  see  Mr.  Elliot  ever  ? " 

"  Nigh  every  day." 

"  Are  you  in  his  confidence  ?  " 

"  I  should  be.  I  am  only  a  poor  Highland  lad.  But  when 
ye,  all  of  ye,  left  him  to  rot  in  his  prison,  I  was  the  only 
one  faithful  to  him." 

"  You  are  wrong,"  said  the  boy,  eagerly.  "  Others  are 
faithful  to  him.  I  am  faithful  to  him.  Edward  is  as  true 
as  steel  to  him.  "We  know  how  blameless  he  was  in  the 
matter.  We  know  that  he  followed  this  man  abroad,  and 
got  wounded.  Take  this  letter  back  to  him,  and  tell  him  to 
burn  it.  Tell  him  that  Edward  followed  Miss  Hilton  abroad 
instantly,  and  has  been  with  her  ever  since.  They  are  at 
Ems  now.  She  is  in  trouble  about  her  aunt;  but  don't  tell 
him  this.  How  is  he  ?  How  does  he  bear  it  ?  " 

"  He  has  been  at  death's  door,  and  no  one  nigh  him." 


286  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  Give  him  my  love,  —  George  Barty's  love  ; 
and  say,  we  have  not  forgotten  him." 

Gil  came  back  and  reported  all  this.  Austin  was  glad 
that  Lord  Edward  was  with  her.  That  was  very  good  news. 
So  Lord  Edward  was  as  true  as  steel  to  him,  was  he  ?  Per 
haps.  But  he  might  have  written  a  line  to  say  so.  As  true 
as  steel,  hey  ? 

"  God  forgive  him ! "  he  said,  the  next  moment.  When 
did  Lord  Edward  ever  write  letters,  blind  as  he  was  from 
infancy  ?  He  could  write  in  a  way,  so  Austin  had  heard ; 
but  since  Austin  had  known  him,  he  had  always  dic 
tated  his  letters  to  his  valet.  He  would  cast  this  miserable 
jealousy  out  of  his  heart  once  and  for  all.  Edward  Barty 
was  true  to  him ;  his  delicacy  had  only  prevented  his  writing. 
It  was  easy  to  find  excuses  for  a  blind  man ;  but  who  could 
find  excuses  for  Eleanor  ?  Why  had  she  not  written  ?  Not 
one  line ;  not  one  short  word  to  say  that  she  had  thrown  him 
off.  His  anger  against  her  increased  day  by  day ;  but,  alas  ! 
his  love  for  her  grew  none  the  les-s.  He  loved  an  eidolon,  — 
an  Eleanor  who  never  had  been,  except  in  his  own  fancy,  — 
a  true,  faithful,  patient  little  being,  who  always  sat  with 
folded  hands,  whose  face  never  grew  animated,  save  when 
he  was  present.  He  had  loved  such  an  one,  but  she  had 
never  existed.  Eleanor  Hilton  who  lived  was  false  and 
cruel.  Not  one  line  all  these  three  weary  months.  How 
wicked  these  women  could  be  at  times ! 

Poor  Austin's  resolution  to  uproot  from  his  heart  his  fatal 
error  of  causeless  jealousy  seemed  to  hold  well  enough,  until 
he  began  to  think  about  Eleanor  ;  about  the  very  person 
whom  he  loved  best  in  the  world,  and  whom,  if  he  had  only 
known  it,  he  had  best  cause  to  trust,  —  the  one  who  had  suf 
fered  more  on  his  behalf  than  any  one  else  who  cared  for 
him.  It  was  natural  possibly  that  he  should  be  most  jealous 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  '  287 

about  the  one  he  loved  best,  but  it  was  very  hard  upon 
Eleanor. 

She  had  written  to  him  again  and  again,  letters  full  of  wrild 
love,  tenderness,  and  comfort.  Lord  Edward  Barty  had  dic 
tated  several  notes  to  him  also,  and  enclosed  them  in  hers. 
They  had  left  them  to  go  to  post  with  the  other  letters. 

But  Aunt  Maria's  maid,  acting  under  orders,  had  brought 
them  all  to  her  mistress,  who  had  read  them,  and  then  put 
them  all  into  the  fire. 

Eleanor's  troubles  began  to  get  more  heavy  to  bear  than 
Austin's  ;  Austin's  silence  aggravated  them  very  much,  she 
did  not  know  what  to  think.  Was  he  desperate,  under  his 
terrible  misfortune,  or  did  he  know  of  her  secret  ?  He  was  in 
Millbank  prison  himself;  could  he  know  ?  She  told  Lord 
Edward  everything.  He  advised  her  to  say  nothing ;  he  was 
getting  angry ;  Austin  ought  to  have  written. 

At  this  time  Lord  Edward  received  the  following  letter :  — 

"  DEAR  BROTHER, 

"  I  met  a  big  fellow,  an  awful  big  fellow,  as  big  as  old  Hos- 
kins,  but  not  so  fat,  in  the  square  yesterday.  He  spoke  like 
an  Irishman,  and  said  that  Austin  was  anxious  for  you  to  take 
care  of  Miss  Hilton.  I  said  you  were  doing  so.  He  said  that 
Austin  had  been  dying,  but  was  well  again,  and  that  every  one 
had  deserted  him. 

"  Florence  has  shoved  the  mignonette-box  out  of  the  school 
room  window,  and  broke  the  geraniums  in  the  drawing-room 
balcony,  and  has  caught  it.  Jim  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of 
his  tub,  kicking  nurse,  and  the  tub  turned  over  him,  and  the 
water  has  gone  down  and  spoilt  the  library  ceiling.  He 
caught  it,  too,  but  not  so  bad  as  Florence.  The  houses  are 
up,  and  we  leave  town  to-morrow. 

"  Your  affectionate  brother, 

"  GEORGE  BARTY." 


288  '   AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

On  the  receipt  of  this,  they  wrote  to  Austin  again ;  but 
again  Aunt  Maria's  maid  was  terrified  into  stealing  the  letter, 
and  again  Aunt  Maria  put  it  into  the  fire.  What  old  James 
was  doing  at  this  time  we  shall  see  directly.  But  the  effect 
of  this  wicked  old  woman's  plot  was  this,  that  Austin  thought 
they  had  both  utterly  deserted  him ;  that  he  thought  that 
Eleanor,  at  least,  should  have  written  to  him  ;  and  that  he 
was  very  angry  and  very  jealous. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

AUSTIN  had  never  been  moved  into  the  hospital ;  the  doctor 
preferred  dealing  with  him  where  he  was.  After  a  time  he 
began  to  get  better,  and  was  able  to  walk  about. 

At  first  he  always  waited  for  Gil  Macdonald,  and  took  his 
arm  for  a  turn  up  and  down  the  long  corridor,  and  then  lay 
down  again  ;  but  after  a  time  he  felt  the  want  of  more  exer 
cise,  and  used  to  rise,  and  walk  out  by  himself.  At  first,  when 
he  began  to  do  this,  he  would  wait  till  the  long  corridor  was 
empty,  and  then  come  out,  and  begin  his  solitary  walk.  To 
show  how  villanously  penal  sentences  are  carried  out  in  certain 
cases,  I  may  mention  that,  when  Austin  began  to  recover,  the 
governor  called  on  him  every  day  (under  protest)  ;  and  that 
if  Austin,  in  his  solitary  walk,  wanted  the  support  of  a  ward 
er's  arm,  it  was  his  own  fault  if  he  did  not  have  it.  He  was 
their  Picciola,  —  their  "  poor  little  thing,"  —  their  prison- 
flower  !  —  the  only  innocent  man  among  nine  hundred.  What 
wonder  that  they  (officially)  petted  him  ?  Poor,  handsome, 
patient,  innocent  young  gentleman  !  Yes  !  they  grew  very 
fond  of  Austin  :  they  were  just  like  every  one  else. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  289 

But  after  a  time  Austin  began  to  feel  the  want  of  new  faces, 
although  those  faces  were  those  of  convicts.  One  night,  when 
he  was  getting  strong,  he  lay  on  his  bed  and  thought ;  and  a 
strange  thought  came  into  his  head.  This  thought  put  itself 
into  many  forms  before  it  came  to  this  :  Could  not  he,  Austin, 
do  some  good,  infinitesimal  it  might  be,  if  he  mixed  with  the 
other  convicts  ?  In  the  eye  of  the  law  he  was  no  better  than 
the  worst  of  them,  but  he  was  still  higher  than  the  highest  of 
them.  Surely  he  might  do  some  good. 

"  By  merely  mixing  with  them,  and  talking  to  them,  we 
might  raise  their  moral  tone,"  thought  he.  Speaking  to  them 
of  higher  things  would  —  must  —  do  them  some  good.  One 
does  not  like  to  say  that  he  was  wrong ;  but  still  it  becomes 
apparent  that  he  had  not  acquired  what  we  may  call  the 
Australian  instinct,  —  that  is  to  say,  did  not  know  a  convict 
or  jail-bird  when  he  saw  him ;  did  not  recognize  the  class  of 
man  as  a  distinct  one;  did  not  perceive  the  extraordinary 
difference  in  appearance  between  an  honest  man  under 
a  cloud,  and  a  rogue.  In  fact,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  he  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  he  might  raise  the  moral  tone  of 
the  convicts  around  him  by  talking  to  them  on  an  empty 
stomach. 

He  determined  to  go  out  into  the  yard  and  talk  to  them ; 
but  he  was  still  weak,  and  a  little  nervous  ;  and  so,  putting 
it  off  from  day  to  day,  he  contented  himself  by  walking  up  and 
down  the  corridor  in  front  of  his  cell. 

One  day  there  was  a  fracas  there  :  it  was  only  a  few 
days  after  he  was  able  to  walk  up  and  down  alone.  It 
was  not  a  very  great  riot:  it  was  a  loud  dispute  between 
a  warder  and  a  tall  young  man  in  a  convict  dress.  Austin, 
weak  as  he  was,  walked  down  to  see  if  he  could  assist  the 
warder.  He  found  him  in  high  dispute  with  the  convict,  and 
in  the  convict  he  recognized  the  young  man  who  had  looked 
13  s 


290  AUSTIN   ELLIOT. 

at  him  so  eagerly  the  morning  after  he  had  been  brought  to 
prison. 

And  as  Austin  looked  on  the  young  man,  he  had  sense  to  see 
that  he  was  not  quite  recovered  from  his  fever ;  that  his  brain 
had  not  quite  got  the  better  of  the  delirium  yet.  However, 
he  was  far  too  sensible  a  fellow  to  be  deluded  by  any  mad 
fancies.  "  If  a  lunatic,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  only  knows  that 
he  is  mad,  and  can  keep  that  faith  in  his  head  sufficiently 
long,  he  may  defy  all  the  Masters  in  Lunacy  put  together." 
Austin  knew  that,  probably,  his  brain  was  not  quite  right,  and 
so  he  banished  a  certain  idiotic  fancy  from  his  mind  indig 
nantly.  He  banished  his  first  mad  fancy,  and  took  a  practical 
view  of  things.  Here  was  a  young  convict  in  high  dispute 
with  a  warder.  He  would  intercede  for  this  young  convict ; 
would  get  hold  of  this  young  convict,  and  talk  to  him  about 
Shakespeare  and  the  musical  glasses,  until  all  the  other  con 
victs  should  come  and  listen  with  this  one.  And  so  Austin 
would  elevate  the  moral  tone  of  all  of  them,  until  they  should 
become  penetrated  with  an  abstract  love  of  virtue  (for  Austin, 
in  his  political  creed,  ignored  the  religious  element),  and  so 
they  should  all  become  reformed,  which  meant,  although  he 
did  not  know  it,  that  all  their  foreheads  should  become  broader 
and  higher,  their  eyes  should  look  straight  at  another  man's, 
and  they  should  give  over  fiddling  with  their  buttons  when 
they  spoke  to  an  honest  man. 

It  appeared  that  the  dispute  with  this  convict  and  the 
warder  was  rather  a  strange  one.  The  young  man  had  been 
corning  up  to  speak  to  Austin,  when  the  warder,  too  zealous 
in  Austin's  cause,  had  turned  him  back.  Austin  thanked  the 
warder  for  his  kindness,  and  allowed  the  young  convict  to 
speak  to  him- 

The  young  man  spoke  first.  "  Your  name  is  Elliot  ?  "  he 
said. 


AUSTIN   ELLIOT.  291 

.     Austin  said,  "  Yes." 

"  I  knew  that  the  first  moment  I  saw  you,  —  that  morning 
when  you  came  out  in  the  yard  among  the  rest  of  us.  I  had 
not  seen  you  for  a  long  while,  but  I  felt  sure  it  was  you." 

"  Then  you  have  seen  me  before  ?  "  said  Austin. 

"  Ah  yes,  often." 

"  What  is  your  name  now,"  said  Austin,  "  and  where  have 
you  seen  me?" 

"  Then  you  do  not  remember  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Austin.  "  I  had  a  silly  fancy  about  you  just 
now  ;  but  I  don't  remember  you.  If  you  have  known  me,  tell 
me  where  ?  " 

"  I  knew  you  when  you  were  at  Eton.  Do  you  remember 
Tolliday's  boy,  Jim  Charlton?" 

«  Yes." 

"  I  am  that  boy." 

"  Indeed,  you  are  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Austin.  "  Jim 
was  a  light-headed  boy,  your  hair  is  black.  What  is  the  good 
of  lying  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  no  one  speaks  the  truth  here.  I  remem 
ber  you,  though.  You  were  always  kind  enough  to  me  ;  you 
used  always  to  be  with  a  young  swell  there,  Lord  Charles 
Barty.  How  I  hated  that  boy.  What  has  become  of  him  ?  " 

"  D n  you,"  said  Austin,  "you  had  better  take  care." 

As  he  turned  fiercely  on  the  man,  he  saw  nothing  but  a  look 
of  puzzled  curiosity ;  his  wrath  was  stayed  at  once,  and  when 
he  had  looked  at  the  young  man's  face  for  an  instant,  he  con 
sidered  whether  or  no  he  was  going  mad  again. 

"  Don't  get  in  a  rage,  Austin  Elliot,"  said  Charlton.  "  What 
has  become  of  that  cursed  young  prig  ?  " 

"  Dead,  —  shot  in  a  duel.  I  was  his  second,  and  am  here 
for  it.  Will  you  hold  your  tongue  ?  " 

"  Yes,  directly.     One  question  more.     What  has   become 


292  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

of  that  other  fellow  who  was  always  with  you  and  Lord 
Charles,  —  Robert  Hilton  ?  " 

"  He  is  dead ;  he  died  three  years  ago,  at  Namur,"  said 
Austin. 

"  May  the  Devil  take  him,"  said  Charlton.  "  I  shall  be  out 
of  this  in  six  months,  and  I  was  depending  on  him.  I  know 
enough  about  him  to  bring  me  in  a  tidy  income.  So  he  is 
dead.  Well,  no  loss,  except  to  me.  He  was  a  worthless 
young  scoundrel." 

"  He  was  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Austin.  He  was  half 
witted,  but  he  was  neither  worthless  nor  a  scoundrel.  How 
dare  you  speak  so  of  Miss  Hilton's  brother  ?  He  stola  things. 
He  was  half  witted,  I  tell  you.  What  have  you  done  that 
you  are  here  ?  I  '11  tell  you  what,  little  Bob  Hilton,  poor 
little  devil,  was  in  some  respects  immeasurably  your  superior 
Come  now." 

This  was,  do  you  perceive,  the  way  in  which  Austin  carried 
out  his  plan  of  elevating  the  moral  tone  of  the  convicts 
around  him,  by  talking  about  Shakespeare  and  the  musical 
glasses. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

AUSTIN  grew  to  like  this  young  convict.  He  had,  it  ap 
pears,  behaved  pretty  well,  and  was  a  somewhat  privileged 
person.  When  Gil  was  not  with  him,  Austin  used  to  walk  a 
great  deal  with  this  young  fellow,  Charlton.  Gil  was  glad 
at  Austin's  having  found  some  one  in  the  prison  of  whom  he 
could  make  some  sort  of  a  companion ;  he  wondered  at  Aus 
tin's  choice,  but  respectfully  acquiesced.  He  did  not  like 
Charlton,  but  that  was  his  fault,  of  course,  for  Austin  must  be 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  293 

right.  Austin's  heroic  nature,  thought  Gil,  though  in  other 
words,  could  not  err  :  so  he  accepted  Charlton. 

The  fact  was  that  Austin,  so  far  from  having  become  less 
heroic  in  Gil's  eyes,  since  his  misfortune,  had  become  infinitely 
more  so.  When  he  had  found  his  hero  in  misfortune  and  dis 
grace,  his  hero  worship  only  grew  the  stronger  for  those  cir 
cumstances.  Pity  was,  in  his  thoroughly  chivalrous  mind, 
superadded  to  his  old  admiration,  and  made  his  love  for  Austin 
only  stronger.  But  when  Austin  grew  well  enough  to  tell 
him  the  whole  story,  his  admiration  grew  into  a  sort  of  bar- 
barons  reverence,  combined  with  self-congratulation,  at  his 
having  been  shrewd  enough  to  have  picked  out  Austin  as  the 
very  man  to  follow  to  the  death. 

The  fact  of  Lord  Charles  Barty  having  succeeded  in  thrust 
ing  himself  forward  into  the  quarrel  before  Austin  was  cer 
tainly  a  distressing  accident,  —  but  Austin's  hunt 'after  Captain 
Hertford,  his  wandering  hither  and  thither  after  him,  with  the 
dread  of  his  trial  hanging  over  him  all  the  time,  his  patient 
search  after  him,  the  cunning  he  displayed  in  it,  his  calm  be 
havior  when  he  brought  the  wolf  to  bay,  and  his  noble  gen 
erosity  in  refusing  to  fire  at  him,  after  all,  —  formed,  in  Gil's 
Highland  imagination,  the  most  beautiful  and  glorious  tale 
he  had  ever  heard.  I  suppose  that  it  is  true,  that  heroic 
natures  are  apt  to  worship  an  idol  which  they  suppose  to 
possess  the  qualities  they  most  admire  themselves.  Faithful, 
high-souled  valor,  were  the  qualities  for  which  Austin  was 
getting  worshipped,  and  his  worshipper  was  showing  those 
qualities  to  a  higher  degree  than  ever  had  Austin. 

Gil  had  made  friends  with  the  apprentices.  They  were  two 
good-hearted,  ordinary,  English  lads,  who  were  not  so  much 
learning  their  trade  as  having  the  details  of  their  trade 
knocked,  so  to  speak,  into  their  heads.  Gil  Macdonald  was  a 
fellow  of  genius  and  energy.  A  Quentin  Durward  of  a  fellow  ; 


294  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

a  man  who  would  not  consent  to  be  starved  at  any  price,  and 
so  had  come  south.  The  apprentices  had  asked  "  Scotchy " 
to  have  some  beer  with  them,  but  Scotchy  would  not,  because 
he  were  n't  sure  whether  or  no  he  could  treat  them  in  return. 
They  wanted  Scotchy  to  go  to  Highbury  Barn  with  them  ;  but 
Scotchy  would  n't.  They  could  n't  make  friends  with  him  : 
Scotchy  did  n't  want  them  to  ;  he  wanted  to  make  friends  with 
them.  He  did  so  ;  he  appealed  to  their  generosity  ;  and  it  is 
a  queer  sort  of  English  apprentice  who  can  stand  that  appeal. 
Gil  got  first  one  of  them,  and  then  another,  to  show  him  little 
tricks  in  -  gun-making  which  he  did  not  know,  and  they  had 
gladly  done  so  ;  after  this  Gil  would  sit  up  half  the  night 
easing  them  of  their  work.  Yes,  Scotchy  was  a  good  fellow, 
though  he  would  not  go  to  Highbury  Barn.  So  Gil  and  the 
apprentices  got  fond  of  one  another,  as  English  and  Scotch 
lads  always  will,  if  there  is  no  fool  by  to  make  mischief 
between  them. 

So  much  for  Gil ;  and  he  deserves  so  much  at  least.  We 
must  return  to  Austin. 

This  young  convict  which  he  had  taken  up,  or,  to  be  more 
correct,  had  taken  up  with  him,  persisted  for  a  long  while  in 
calling  himself  Charlton.  He  was  a  fellow  of  very  few  words, 
but  when  he  did  speak  he  showed  some  knowledge  of  educated 
society.  He  was,  to  a  certain  extent,  a  companion  to  Austin. 
He  was  evidently,  thought  Austin,  not  a  gentleman,  but  he  had 
seen  a  great  deal  of  gentlemen.  One  day  Austin  fancied  that 
he  might  have  been  a  billiard-marker,  and  asked  him  the 
question. 

"  Yes,"  said  Charlton,  "  I  was  a  billiard-marker  once.  God 
bless  you  !  I  have  been  all  sorts  of  things.  I  drove  a  Hansom 
cab  once." 

"Did  you?" 

"  I  drove  one  of  the  cleverest  horses  ever  you  saw.     The 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  295 

horse  had  been  in  Astley's,  and  was  almost  like  a  Christian, 
by  Jove  !  And  one  day,  when  I  was  in  the  public  house,  a 
fellow  hails  my  cab,  and  the  waterman  runs  away  after  me. 
And  the  fellow  gets  in,  by  George  !  without  noticing  that  there 
was  no  one  to  drive,  and  roars  out  '  Treasury ! '  and  away 
goes  the  old  horse  like  a  steam-engine,  by  himself,  and  when 
he  gets  to  Downing  Street  he  comes  up  short,  and  sends  the 
fellow  forward  with  the  crown  of  his  hat  against  the  splash 
board  ;  and  when  the  fellow  gets  out  to  slang  the  cabman,  by 
gad  !  he  finds  there 's  no  cabman  there.  Yes,  that  was  a 
devilish  clever  horse,  I  say!" 

"  You  can't  expect  me  to  believe  that,"  said  Austin. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Why  not  ?  I  '11  tell  you.  Because  you  are  always  lying. 
Why  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  If  you  tease  and  plague  me  about  my 
lying  and  thieving,  I  will  not  come  and  walk  with  you  any 
more." 

"  But  you  must  tell  me  one  thing,"  said  Austin.  "  Your 
name  is  not  Charlton." 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  sulkily.     "  My  name  is  Goatley." 

"What,  are  you  little  Bob  Goatley,  at  Tolliday's?  I 
thought  I  knew  you." 

The  other,  whom  we  must  now  call  Goatley,  walked  sulkily 
away. 

By  the  end  of  August  Austin  had  recovered  his  health 
completely.  Goatley  and  he  were  still  together  a  great  deal. 
Goatley  always  grew  sulky  the  very  instant  Austin  tried  to 
learn  anything  about  his  former  life,  and  at  last  he  desisted 
from  asking  questions.  As  these  few  weeks  went  on,  Austin 
talked  a  great  deal  with  him.  He  so  continually  attacked,  by 
scorn  and  ridicule,  his  habit  of  lying,  that  the  poor  fellow 
made  some  improvement.  Before  the  end  of  September  a 
great  event  occurred,  no  less  a  one  than  this. 


296  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

It  happened  suddenly.  It  came  on  Austin  and  Goatley 
like  an  earthquake  or  a  whirlwind.  They  were  both  dazed 
by  it,  like  two  bats  in  the  sunshine. 

Goatley  had  told  Austin,  on  the  26th,  that  there  was  a  dis 
turbance  in  the  prison.  He  had  not  taken  much  notice  of  it. 
One  of  the  warders,  the  last  thing  at  night,  had  confirmed  it, 
and  had  stayed  a  moment  and  told  Austin  the  cause  of  it,  but 
he  had  nearly  forgotten  all  about  it  next  morning. 

At  eleven  he  was  let  out  to  walk  in  the  corridor,  and  Goat- 
ley  was  there  waiting  for  him.  He  told  him  that  in  two  of 
the  corridors  the  riot  had  been  most  serious.  That  the  prison 
ers  were  all  confined  to  llieir  cells,  except  he,  and  a  few  others 
who  could  be  trusted,  and  that  one  of  the  officers  had  been 
nearly  murdered. 

Everything  was  quite  quiet  for  two  days.  At  the  end  of 
that  time  the  cells  were  unlocked,  and  the  convicts  were  let 
loose  again  to  their  exercise. 

Austin  was  shrewd  enough  to  see  that  there  would  be 
another  riot.  The  instant  that  the  men  were  let  out  of  their 
cells,  they  began  to  gather  in  knots,  and  to  talk  and  gesticu 
late.  The  efforts  of  the  warders  to  keep  them  apart,  and 
make  them  move  on,  were  quite  unavailing.  The  confusion 
grew  worse  every  instant ;  the  warders  were  being  pressed 
on,  and  mobbed.  They  tried  to  get  the  men  back  to  their 
cells,  but  they  would  not  go ;  they  were  encouraging  one  an 
other  to  violence,  but  as  yet  no  blow  had  been  struck.  The 
warders  were  as  one  man  to  twenty.  Affairs  looked  very 
terrible  indeed. 

Austin  whispered  to  Goatley,  "  Keep  with  me,"  and  pushed 
his  way  through  the  crowd,  towards  the  governor's  lodgings. 
They  met  him  running,  five  steps  at  a  time,  up  the  long  stone 
staircase  which  led  from  the  lodge. 

"  Stop,  for  God's  sake,  sir  ! "  said  Austin.     "  The  slightest 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  297 

spark  will  fire  the  powder,  now.      Your  appearance  might 
be  ruin." 

He  had  paused  for  an  instant,  but  he  said,  "I  must  go 
on,  I  tell  you.  My  poor  officers  will  be  murdered.  I  must 
be  with  them.  I  have  a  company  of  the  Guards  in  the  yard. 
It  is  a  matter  of  a  moment.  Stick  by  me,  Mr.  Elliot,  as 
you  are  a  gentleman." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  shout  and  a  yell  from  one 
distant  part  of  the  prison,  and  immediately,  in  every  long- 
drawn  corridor,  it  was  repeated  tenfold.  Eight  hundred  con 
victs  had  suddenly  burst  out  into  aimless  furious  madness ; 
and  there  were  forty  poor  unprotected  warders  among  them. 

The  governor  ran  madly  on  towards  the  riot.  Austin  and 
Goatley  ran  with  him.  As  Austin,  who  had  met  the  gov 
ernor,  turned  to  follow  him,  he  saw  that  the  great  gate  was 
opened,  and  that  a  company  of  the  Grenadier  Guards  was 
coming  on,  out  of  the  sunshine  into  the  semi-darkness  of  the 
prison,  swinging  steadily  forward,  with  sloped  arms  and  fixed 
bayonets.  Order  tramping  on  inexorably,  to  sweep  away 
disorder,  by  the  mere  sight  of  it.  He  heard  Sir  Robert 
Ferrers  give  the  word,  "double,"  and  then  he  was  after  the 
governor,  with  Goatley  close  behind  him. 

The  whole  of  the  corridor  was  filled  with  a  crowded  mass 
of  angry,  desperate  men.  Those  nearest  them  had  made  some 
preparations  for  an  attack  on  this  side.  So  the  instant  the 
poor  governor  ran  towards  them,  Austin  saw  him  felled  to 
the  earth  like  an  ox,  with  the  leg  of  an  iron  bedstead. 

But- before  the  man  who  did  that  had  time  to  strike  another 
blow,  Austin  was  upon  him.  He  saw,  with  the  eye  of  a  gen 
eral,  that  this  man  was  the  only  one  there  who  was  armed,  and 
that  the  possession  of  this  weapon  might  save  the  governor's 
life.  He  caught  the  man's  arm  in  his,  and,  bending  down  his 
head,  bit  his  wrist  until  he  let  go  his  hold ;  and  then,  with  a 
13* 


298  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

rapid,  dexterous  blow,  sent  him  tottering,  and  reeling,  and  spin 
ning  round  and  round,  till  he  came  headlong  down  upon  the 
pavement  like  a  dead  man. 

He  glared  defiantly  about  him,  but  he  was  the  only  man 
there  who  was  armed.  The  governor  was  sitting  up,  looking 
wild  and  rnazed ;  before  him  were  two  men,  both  in  the  con 
vict  dress,  fighting  on  the  ground,  rolling  over  and  over.  The 
convicts  were  crowding  round  these  two  men,  and  kicking  one 
of  them  whenever  he  came  uppermost :  their  attention  to  those 
two  men  saved  the  governor's  life. 

Austin  had  just  time  to  notice  these  two  men  fighting, 
when  the  convicts  began  whistling  in  a  sharp,  shrill  way,  and 
whooping  and  yelling.  In  one  instant  were  all  gone.  No 
one  was  left  but  the  man  he  had  knocked  down,  who  was 
snoring  heavily,  the  governor  himself,  and  the  two  still-fighting 
convicts  — 

And  Sir  Robert  Ferrers.  The  mere  sight  of  that  kindest 
and  gentlest  of  men,  in  uniform,  with  a  drawn  sword,  had  been 
quite  enough  for  the  convicts.  Profound  tranquillity  was 
restored,  even  before  they  had  seen  a  single  man  of  his 
company. 

All  this  took  exactly  as  long  to  happen  as  it  took  Sir  Robert 
Ferrers  to  double  across  the  hall,  up  some  sixty  stone  steps, 
and  through  the  corridor.  He  rapidly  ordered  his  lieutenant 
to  see  everything  quiet  instantly,  and,  putting  up  his  sword, 
ran  to  separate  the  two  convicts. 

One  had  got  the  other  down,  and  the  one  underneath  was 
getting  black  in  the  face.  When  they  got  them  apart,  it  was 
found  that  the  winner  was  our  friend  Goatley  ;  and  that  the 
other  was  one  of  the  most  desperate  characters  in  the  prison. 
Goatley  had  saved  the  governor's  life :  there  was  no  doubt  of 
it.  The  governor,  weak  and  stunned  as  he  was,  called  Sir 
Robert's  attention  to  the  fact ;  but  Goatley  was  found  to  be  in 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  299 

a  state  of  wild  feline  excitement,  breathing  short  and  hard, 
thrusting  every  one  aside  who  got  between  him  and  the  object 
of  his  vengeance,  showing  the  strongest  inclination  to  go  in, 
and,  as  Sir  Robert  said,  "  finish "  his  man.  As  they  were 
leading  the  other  off,  Goatley  made  a  rush  at  him,  and  Sir 
Robert,  interposing,  he  and  Goatley  came  down  together  on 
the  floor,  and  Sir  Robert's  sword  got  broke  in  two ;  but  he 
stuck  to  Goatley  long  enough  to  prevent  mischief.  And  Goat- 
ley  was  marched  off  to  his  cell  in  a  furious,  mad,  cat-like  frame 
of  mind,  ready  for  any  amount  of  assault  and  battery. 

That  evening  Sir  Robert  waited  on  a  certain  great  person 
age  with  a  note  from  the  governor,  and  gave  an  account  of  the 
whole  business.  The  great  man  told  Sir  Robert  something 
which  made  him  stare. 

"  By  Gad,"  said  he,  "  that  is  the  sort  of  thing  men  put  into 
novels.  How  very  extraordinary  !  " 

"  Is  it  not  ?  "  said  the  great  -man.  "  But  mind,  it  is  all  in 
confidence.  It  is  best  to  say  nothing." 

The  next  morning  an  order  came  down  to  the  prison  for 
the  immediate  release  of  Austin  Elliot  and  William  Brown 
ing.  William  Browning,  it  is  necessary  to  say,  was  the  young 
man  whom  we  have  known  by  the  aliases  of  Charlton  and 
Goatley. 

Austin  slept  late,  and  they  would  not  wake  him.  Was  it 
that  they  had  a  disinclination  to  lose  him  ?  I  think  so.  When 
he  woke  at  last,  the  warder  who  had  led  him  back  to  his  cell 
on  the  first  miserable  morning  of  his  imprisonment,  stood  be 
side  his  bed,  and  told  him  that  the  gate  was  open,  and  that  he 
might  walk  out  into  the  world  a  free  man. 

After  several  repetitions,  he  realized  it  at  last.  He  tried 
to  thank  the  man  ;  he  tried  to  pray.  He  succeeded  in  neither. 
He  laid  his  forehead  between  his  knees,  and  did  the  best  thing 
he  could  do,  —  he  sobbed  like  a  child. 


300  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

He  saw  the  governor  in  his  bed,  and  in  bidding  him  good-by, 
earnestly  thanked  him  for  his  kindness.  He  went  into  the  lodge. 
They  were  all  waiting  to  say  good-by  to  him.  He  must  think 
of  them  sometimes,  they  said.  They  did  not  like  to  say  that 
they  were  sorry  to  lose  him,  but  such  was  the  case  ;  there  was 
not  one  honest  face  left  behind  in  that  gloomy  prison  now. 
Austin  did  not  know  till  after,  that,  sooner  than  sadden  his 
dismissal,  they  had  kept  from  him  the  fact  that  two  warders, 
whom  he  knew,  were  killed  the  day  before.  "  They  were  on 
duty,"  they  said.  "  They  would  give  Austin's  love  to  them, 
and  tell  them  how  sorry  he  was  not  to  have  wished  them 
good-by."  He  did  not  know  till  afterwards  that  he  had  sent 
his  love  to  two  poor,  cold  corpses,  which  lay  under  sheets  in 
the  dead-house.  No !  they  closed  the  great  iron  door  behind 
him  without  telling  him  that.  And  he  stood  blinking  and 
trembling  without,  in  the  blazing  autumn  sunshine. 

»  *  *  *  * 

A  well-dressed  young  man  was  standing  in  the  sun  under 
the  prison  wall,  and  he  came  to  meet  him.  Austin  saw  it  was 
Goatley. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  at  first,"  he  said.  "  I  have  only  seen 
you  in  your  prison  dress.  You  got  your  discharge,  too." 

"  Yes.  I  thought  you  were  going  to  cut  me.  I  was  only 
waiting  here  to  say  good-by." 

"Why  good-by?" 

"  We  can  never  see  anything  more  of  one  another.  I  am 
far  too  disreputable  a  person  for  you  to  know.  Say  good-by, 
and  let  us  part  forever,  Austin  Elliot." 

"  I  shall  say  no  such  thing,"  said  Austin.  "  You  are  com 
ing  with  me  to  Canada,  and  there  you  and  I  and  Gil  Mac- 
donald  will  die  respectable  old  men.  Come  along.  It  were 
strange,  indeed,  if  I  deserted  you  now,  my  boy." 

"  If  you  had,"  said  Goatley,  "  I  would  have  been  back 
there  in  a  very  few  days." 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  301 

So  patient  Gil,  filing  grimly  over  his  guns,  looked  up  from 
the  vice,  wiped  his  eyes  with  his  big  black  hands,  and  said, 
"  Gude  guide  us  !  "  for  Austin  Elliot  was  standing  in  front  of 
him,  and  bidding  him  good-morrow.  And  that  same  night, 
Gil  took  the  two  apprentices  to  a  Scotch  store  he  knew  of, 
arid,  at  his  own  expense,  made  them,  and  himself  also,  so  very 
drunk  on  whiskey  and  water,  that  the  outraged  majesty  of  the 
law  required  that  they  should  be  all  three  locked  up  at  Bow 
Street  until  they  had  purged  themselves  of  their  contempt. 
They  were  not  back  before  eleven  the  next  morning.  But 
Mr.  Macpherson  was  not  angry ;  he  only  winked.  And  Mrs. 
Macpherson  said,  "  He  's  no  awake  yet.  It  does  my  heart 
good,  Gil  Macdonald,  ye  daft  devil,  to  think  that  he  is  back  in 
his  ain  house  again,  after  a'.  If  all  the  world  were  like  you 
and  he  and  our  gude  man,  Gil,  why  it  would  be  no  muckle  tho 
\vaur,  hey  ?  " 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

WE  must  leave  Austin  here  for  a  short  time,  and  this  is 
almost  the  first  time  in  this  tale  in  which  we  have  left  him. 
But  we  must  leave  him,  and  see  how  matters  were  going  on  at 
Ems.  If  sternest  fate  did  not  say  "  no,"  we  would  have  pre 
ferred  to  make  Ems  the  place  in  which  some  pleasant  genial 
story  got  itself  wound  up,  —  in  which  every  angle  in  one's 
tale  was  rounded  off,  —  in  whose  mountain  meadows  happy 
lovers  met,  and  parted  no  more.  But  that  cannot  be.  With 
all  its  wonderful  beauty,  it  is  a  wicked  little  place.  Under 
the  auspices  of  the  Duke  of  Nassau,  the  play  runs  higher  than 
at  most  places  on  the  Continent ;  there  are  many  men  who 
curse  the  day  on  which  they  first  saw  its  lovely  winding 
valleys  and  hanging  sheets  of  woodland. 


302  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

The  morning  of  the  duel,  old  James  went  off  into  town  on 
some  errand  or  another.  Towards  two  o'clock  he  heard  the 
terrible  news,  and  brought  it  home.  He  looked  so  wild  and 
scared  that  his  old  enemies,  the  maids,  grew  frightened  too. 
They  forbore  to  tease  him,  or  to  laugh  at  him,  but  besought 
him,  in  eager  whispers,  to  tell  them  what  was  the  matter. 
At  last  he  did  so,  and  then  they  stood  all  silent  and  terrified. 
"  Who  is  to  break  it  to  her  ?  "  asked  one  at  last. 

No  one  knew ;  it  was  a  business  no  one  would  undertake. 
Even  the  very  housekeeper,  who  had  nursed  Eleanor  when  a 
baby,  shrank  from  the  taek.  Lord  Charles  killed,  and  Mr. 
Austin  in  prison.  God  spare  her  from  telling  such  news.  At 
last,  the  youngest  and  most  heedless  of  the  servant  girls  sug 
gested  that  they  should  send  for  Lord  Edward. 

It  was  a  good  idea,  but  James  would  not  agree  to  act  on  it. 
He  said  she  must  be  told  at  once,  lest  the  news  should  come 
to  her  any  other,  way  ;  and,  after  a  long  pause,  he  undertook 
to  go  and  tell  her  himself. 

He  went  up  to  the  drawing-room,  and  found  Eleanor  alone 
there.  She  saw  that  disaster  was  written  in  his  face,  and  she 
prayed  him,  for  old  love's  sake,  to  be  quick,  and  strike  his 
blow.  He  did  so  ;  he  told  her  all  as  quietly  as  he  could ;  and 
then  she  fell  back  in  her  chair  speechless.  She  never  said 
one  word,  good  or  bad.  She  tried  to  undo  the  handkerchief 
round  her  throat,  but  could  not ;  then  she  feebly  clutched  her 
hair  with  her  hands,  until  one  long  loop  of  it  fell  down  across 
her  face ;  and  then  she  clasped  her  hands  in  her  lap  in  her 
old  patient  attitude,  and  sat  pale  and  still. 

Old  James  was  kneeling  at  her  feet,  and  praying  her  to 
speak  to  him,  when  he  heard  the  door  locked  behind  him. 
He  started  up,  and  Aunt  Maria  was  standing  between  him 
and  the  door.  Old  James,  valiant  old  soul  as  he  was,  grew 
frightened.  She  had  got  on  her  dressing-gown  only,  her  hair 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  303 

was  all  tumbled  and  wild,  her  great  coarse  throat  was  bare, 
and  her  big  black  eyebrows  were  nearly  hiding  her  cruel  little 
eyes ;  she  looked  redder,  angrier,  madder,  than  ever.  He  saw 
that  she  had  heard  every  word  ;  he  saw  that  she  had  locked 
the  door  behind  her,  and  was  standing  silently  scowling  at 
them ;  and  for  one  moment  he  trembled. 

But  only  for  one  instant.  His  darling  Miss  Eleanor  was 
there,  arid  his  courage  returned ;  he  faced  her  furiously. 

"  Give  me  that  key,  you  old  Atrophy !  "  he  said  (meaning, 
possibly,  Atropos  ;  Lord  knows  what  he  meant !)  Give  it  up 
to  me,  I  tell  you  !  " 

"  Come  and  take  it,  you  old  dog  !  You  old  thief!  you  beg 
garly,  old,  barefooted  shoeblack  boy  !  that  my  fool  of  a  brother 
picked  out  of  the  gutter,  fifty  years  ago,  because  you  had  a 
face  like  a  monkey,  and  made  him  laugh  !  Come  and  take  it ! 
Do  you  hear  ?  " 

James  was  politic.  Aunt  Maria  was  decidedly  the  strong 
est  of  the  two.  He  fell  back  on  his  tongue,  which  was  nearly 
as  good  a  one  as  Aunt  Maria's. 

"  Your  brother  ! "  he  said  ;  "your  brother !     O  Lord  !  " 

"  Put  it  in  Chancery,"  she  said.  "  Put  it  in  Chancery,  you 
penniless  old  rogue  !  Aha ! " 

James  gave  a  glance  at  Eleanor,  and  saw  that  she  was  quite 
unconscious  of  what  was  passing.  With  infinite  shrewdness, 
he  remained  perfectly  quiet,  and  let  Aunt  Maria  begin  at  her. 

She  came  towards  her,  pointing  at  her  with  the  key. 

"You  little  snake! — You  little  devil! — You  little  sly, 
smooth-faced,  pianforte,  playing  minx !  So  you  set  on  your 
two  gallant  bully  lovers  to  murder  Will  Hertford,  did  you  ? 
He  has  given  a  gallant  account  of  them !  He  is  a  man !  why, 
his  little  finger  is  worth  ten  of  your  Bartys  and  Elliots !  One 
dead  and  the  other  in  prison  !  O  brave  Will  Hertford  !  Get 
up,  do  you  hear,  get  up  !  you  little  devil ! " 


304  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  Leave  her  alone,"  said  old  Jarnes ;  "  or  by  the  Lord, 
I'll  —  " 

"  Assault  your  mistress's  aunt,  and  be  walked  off  to  the  po 
lice-station,  is  that  it  ?  I  am  going  to  use  you,  Master  James, 
and  when  I  have  done  with  you,  pitch  you  On  one  side,  like  an 
old  shoe.  I  have  won  the  game  !  Take  this  key,  open  the 
door,  and  send  her  maid  to  her.  I  have  won  the  game,  old 
snake!" 

It  would  have  puzzled  Aunt  Maria  to  say  what  game  she  had 
won.  Originally  she  certainly  was  very  fond  of  Captain  Hert 
ford,  and  was  so  still.  She  had  had  a  plan  of  marrying  him 
to  Eleanor,  and  gaining  some  sort  of  power  over  her  wealth  ; 
this  had  given  her  her  intense  hatred  of  Austin  ;  but  what  with 
-drink  and  incipient  insanity,  all  power  of  keeping  one  plan  be 
fore  her  had  gone  long  ago.  Passion  had  supplanted  reason. 
She  loved  Will  Hertford  still,  in  a  way,  and  she  hated  Austin 
and  the  Bartys  ;  she  had  nothing  left  to  guide  her  now  but  a 
mad  woman's  cunning. 

She  displayed  a  considerable  amount  of  it  this  day.  She 
went  out,  and  ordered  the  maids  to  pack  up  everything  for  a 
long  journey,  and  shortly  afterwards  made  her  appearance, 
dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion,  looking  quite  sane  and  col 
lected.  She  ordered  the  carnage,  went  to  the  bankers  and 
got  money,  went  to  the  passport-office,  and  got  passports  ;  she 
•went  to  Mivart's,  got  a  courier  recommended  to  her  ;  went  to 
the  Hotel  Sabloniere,  in  Leicester  Square,  and  fetched  the 
"gentleman  home.  Then  she  gave  directions  to  the  house 
keeper  about  shutting  up  the  house  and  discharging  the  ser 
vants,  and,  lastly,  she  sent  the  courier  to  secure  berths  on  board 
the  Soho,  for  Antwerp. 

Then  she  went  up  to  Eleanor.  She  was  sitting  near  the 
window,  weeping  bitterly.  Aunt  Maria  was  in  good  temper 
now,  and  was  very  gentle  with  her. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  305 

"  My  love,"  she  said,  "  I  am  glad  you  are  better.  In  my 
grief  this  morning  I  used  harsh  words  to  you.  Are  they 
forgiven  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  of  them,  aunt ;  yet,  if  you  used  them,  they 
are  forgiven." 

"  Are  you  better,  dear  ?  " 

"  I  am  quite  well,  aunt ;  only  my  heart  is  broken." 

"  Nonsense ;  everything  will  come  right.  See  here.  Aus 
tin  will  be  liberated  on  bail,  and  will  go  abroad.  We  ought 
to  go  abroad  instantly.  Can  you  travel  ?  " 

"  You  can  do  as  you  will  with  me,  aunt.  Only,  dear  aunt, 
I  have  been  so  patient  and  loving  to  you,  I  have  never  re 
turned  you  one  angry  word.  Aunt,  for  God's  sake,  don't 
scold  me ! " 

"  Tut,  tut,  silly  one.  Who  is  scolding  ?  Come,  we  start 
to-night,  bid  your  maid  get  ready." 

The  next  night  they  were  at  Brussels,  and  old  James  made 
one  of  the  party.  It  was  his  first  expedition  into  foreign  parts 
since  the  taking  of  the  Bastile,  and  his  prejudices  against 
foreigners  were  as  strong  as  they  were  in  1792.  But  there 
he  was,  and  there  were  three  strong  reasons  for  his  being 
there.  First,  Eleanor  had  asked  him  to  go  ;  second,  he  was 
most  fully  determined  that,  happen  what  might,  he  would 
never  lose  sight  of  Eleanor  ;  and,  thirdly,  that  Aunt  Maria  was 
most  fully  determined  that  she  would  keep  this  dangerous  old 
fellow  under  her  own  eye. 

What  could  the  old  fellow  do  ?  His  dread  of  what  might 
be  the  end  of  Eleanor's  being  carried  abroad  was  boundless. 
But  old  Mr.  Hilton  had  managed  his  affairs  in  life  so  well 
that  he  had  died,  leaving  not  one  single  personal  friend  behind 
him,  but  Mr.  Elliot,  and  now  he  was  dead.  There  was  actually 
no  one  left  to  appeal  to  for  help  but  blind  Lord  Edward 
Barty.  James  scrawled  a  letter  to  him,  and  Lord  Edward 

T 


306  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

started  on  the  trail  at  once,  and  overtook  them  at  Brussels. 
Aunt  Maria  showed  no  disgust  at  his  appearance  ;  she  was 
very  gracious  and  genial,  and  kept  her  temper  for  her  maid, 
whom  she  kept  in  the  most  terrible  subjection,  partly  by  her 
tongue  and  partly  by  wielding  against  the  unfortunate  woman 
a  certain  supposed  clause  in  her  will  susceptible  of  instant 
alteration,  on  suspicion  of  the  poor  wretch's  having  exchanged 
a  single  word  in  confidence  with  old  James. 

Aunt  Maria  found  walking  exercise  necessary,  and  so  she 
used  to  walk  out  every  day  to  take  and  fetch  the  letters  from 
the  post-office,  near  the  Place  de  la  Revolution.  Meanwhile, 
Eleanor  had  a  piano  in  her  room,  and  Lord  Edward  used  to 
come  and  play  it,  and  wonder  why  on  earth  Austin  had  not 
answered  their  letters. 

Old  James,  both  here  and  elsewhere,  was  far  too  much  en 
gaged  in  a  vast,  chronic,  ceaseless  squabble,  with  the  whole 
Belgian  nation,  to  be  at  all  available  for  any  reasonable  busi 
ness  ;  his  life  was  one  great  wrangle  about  the  food.  And, 
moreover,  he  had  a  most  vivid  remembrance  of  holding  Mr. 
Jenkinson's  coat-tails  tight  in  one  hand,  and  Mr.  Hilton's  in 
the  other  ;  of  looking  cautiously  between  the  shoulders  of  those 
gentlemen,  and  of  seeing  all  St.  Antoine  seething  and  howling 
and  leaping  and  raging  over  the  bridge  into  the  Bastile.  He 
fully  believed  that  people  in  foreign  parts  did  that  sort  of 
thing  once  a  month  or  so,  and  that  the  Place  de  la  Revolution, 
where  they  lived,  was  the  spot  set  aside  by  the  Government 
for  the  performance,  at  stated  periods,  of  the  same  sort  of 
Devil's  dance,  which  he  had  witnessed  in  Paris  fifty  years 
before,  for  a  week  or  so.  He  had  always  been  very  particular 
about  his  money  too,  and  now  was  worrying  himself  to  death 
from  having  to  change  good  money  into  coins  with  whose 
value  he  was  totally  unacquainted.  In  short,  the  poor  old 
fellow  was  in  a  totally  unavailable  state  for  all  reasorable 
business. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  307 

When  they  had  been  there  a  short  time,  Aunt  Maria  ex 
pressed  her  intention  of  breaking  up  the  camp,  and  going  to 
Ems.  She  was  the  only  person  in  the  house  who  read  Galig- 
nani.  She  read  one  morning  a  short  account  of  the  duel  at 
Ems,  between  Austin  and  Captain  Hertford  :  she  determined 
to  follow  him  to  that  place. 

Nobody  opposed  her,  and  they  went.  When  their  carriage 
drove  up  the  street,  Captain  Hertford  was  standing  by  the 
arch  which  crosses  the  street  by  the  Kursal.  When  he  saw 
her  face,  he  cursed  and  swore  so  awfully  that  Captain  Jack 
son,  who  was  standing  by.  said,  — 

"  I  say,  Hertford,  don't  use  such  language :  it  is  n't  good 
taste." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  he,  "  when  I  see  that  cursed  old 
woman's  face.  It  makes  me  mad  to  think  what  she  ha^ 
brought  me  to.  I  can't  go  to  England ;  I  don't  care  so  much 
about  that.  I  must  resign  my  seat  in  Parliament ;  that  is  the 
very  deuce  :  but  it  is  n't  that.  It  is  that  young  dandy,  Charles 
Barty.  I  can't  get  him  out  of  my-  head.  I  was  n't  sorry  at 
the  time  ;  I  don't  know  that  I  am  sorry  now.  But  he  came 
down  so  sudden  !  it  was  so  devilish  horrid  !  Did  you  ever 
see  anything  more  horrid?  I've  killed  my  man  before,  but 
not  such  a  lad  as  he.  It  is  always  coming  back  to  me  ;  the 
brandy  is  no  good  against  it.  I  tried  that,  and  it  made  it 
worse  ;  so  I  dropped  it." 

"  I  wish  to  God  you  would  drop  it !  "  said  Jackson,  fiercely. 
"  Why  the  devil  do  you  go  on  harping  on  this  wretched  busi 
ness  ?  What  do  you  think  /  must  feel  about  it  ?  " 

Captain  Hertford  remained  silent. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Hertford,"  continued  the  other  ;  "  don't 
let  us  mention  that  duel  again.  I  should  be  very  glad  if  you 
would  tell  me  the  truth  about  your  connection  with  Miss 
Hilton." 


308  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"I  will  do  so,  Jackson,  I  think  you  are  a  good  fellow. 
Don't  pitch  me  overboard.  I  shall  blow  my  brains  out  if  you 
do.  Old  Maria  Hilton  had  always  a  great  admiration  for  me, 
which  was  not  reciprocated.  But  I  always  kept  in  with  her, 
and  kept  friendly  with  her.  Well.  Hang  it,  sir,  she  bought 
my  company  for  me.  There  ! " 

Captain  Hertford  paused.  They  walked  together  down  the 
terrace  which  hangs  over  the  river ;  but  Captain  Hertford  had 
come  to  a  dead  stop. 

"  You  were  going  to  tell  me  —  "  said  Jackson. 

"  About  little  Miss  Hilton.  Well,  Jackson,  if  you  had  been 
brought  up  such  a  neglected  Arab  as  I,  you  would  have  been 
as  bad  as  I." 

"  I  might  be  worse." 

"  Well,  you  might.  However,"  resumed  he,  slowly,  "  through 
Miss  Hilton,  I,  of  course,  grew  to  be  acquainted  with  her 
nephew  Robert.  He  had  been  expelled  from  the  army  for 
stealing  everything  he  could  lay  his  hands  on.  She  asked  me 
to  see  him  at  Brussels.  I  did  so.  I  took  him  up  rather  be 
cause  I  thought  she  was  fond  of  him.  Never  mind  why  I 
took  him  up.  He  robbed  me  of  some  letters  belonging  to 
Lord  Mewstone,  and  got  the  signature  copied  by  a  clever 
rogue  on  to  a  check.  Finding  himself  discovered,  he  bolted 
to  Namur,  where  he  committed  suicide." 

"  A  tender-conscienced  thief." 

"  Yet  he  was  well  brought  up  ;  he  was  Miss  Hilton's  brother. 
I  brought  the  news  back  to  England.  There  old  Miss  Hilton 
pointed  out  to  me  that  Eleanor  Hilton  would  be  a  great 
heiress,  and  that  I  ought  to  marry  her ;  and  so  the  scheme 
was  begun.  I  went  down  to  Wales,  and  found  Elliot,  the 
fool,  falling  in  love  with  my  worthy  half-brother's  future 
Countess.  I  encouraged  him." 

"  But  how  went  your  scheme  with  Miss  Hilton  ?  " 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  309 

"  Hot  and  cold ;  hot  at  first,  and  afterward,  Avhen  she  paid 
my  election  expenses,  very  cold  indeed.  Still  I  always  had 
hopes,  and  the  old  woman  kept  them  going.  What  led  to  this 
miserable  affair  was  this :  I  got  cleaned  out  on  the  City  and 
Suburban,  and  some  tradesmen  were  troublesome,  and  -then  I 
went  about  and  said  that  I  was  to  marry  her.  I  was  very 
familiar  with  -her.  Well,  I  had  a  secret.  I  did  not  exactly 
trade  on  it,  but  I  used  it.  I  was  a  great  deal  with  her.  I  am 
a  needy  man,  and  I  talked  about  marrying  her,  and  Elliot 
heard  it." 

"  People  say  that  you  had  a  plan  to  shoot  Elliot  and  to  get 
the  girl  abroad,  and  that  that  plan  got  blown  upon,  and  that 
you  had  out  Lord  Charles  Barty  instead.  Is  there  any  truth 
in  that?" 

"  Yes,  a  great  deal.  That  was  the  plan  proposed  to  me  by 
the  old  woman." 

"  It  seems  to  have  been  attended  with  the  most  brilliant 
success." 

"  The  most  brilliant,"  replied  Hertford,  bitterly.  "*I  have 
lost  my  seat  in  Parliament,  I  cannot  go  to  England,  and  if  it 
were  not  for  my  wonderful  luck  at  the  tables,  I  should  be  very 
poor." 

"  Well,  you  have  not  told  your  story  altogether  consistently, 
Hertford.  I  could  not  expect  you  to  do  so.  But  at  the  same 
time  you  seem  to  have  succeeded.  You  have  shot  one  man, 
got  the  other  locked  up  in  prison  (that  is  no  fault  of  yours), 
and  now  the  girl  has  followed  you  here." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Hertford.  "  The  scheme  has  succeeded 
wonderfully.  I  wish  to  God  I  had  never  heard  of  it.  I  am 
not  rascal  enough  to  go  on  any  further  with  it,  Jackson." 

"  I  don't  think  you  could,  could  you  ?  "  said  Captain  Jack 
son. 

"Why  not?" 


310  AUSTIN   ELLIOT. 

"  She  would  hardly  see  you  after  what  you  have  done. 
This  Lord  was  her  friend,  and  they  say  she  was  fond  of 
Elliot." 

"  I  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  that  if  I  were  rogue  enough  I  could 
make  her  aunt  bully  her  into  marrying  me  in  a  month.  You 
don't  know  the  old  woman." 

Lord  Edward  Barty  and  Eleanor  had  a  very  peaceful  and 
quiet  time  at  Ems.  I  believe  that  Captain  Hertford  was  in 
earnest  about  not  prosecuting  the  villanous  scheme  which  had 
ended  in  the  death  of  Lord  Charles  Barty  and  the  imprison 
ment  of  Austin.  But  if  he  had  ever  so  much  intended  to 
take  advantage  of  Eleanor's  situation,  the  presence  of  the 
trusty  Lord  Edward  Barty  rendered  it  impossible. 

He  was  continually  with  her.  He  could  not  be  happy  with 
out  her.  SJie,  with  her  patient  ways,  had  become  a  necessity 
to  him.  As-  for  his  falling  in  love  with  her,  he  simply  never 
knew  what  it  meant.  He  had  loved  his  brother  Charles  much 
better  than  he  was  likely  to  love  her ;  he  at  present  loved  his 
brother  George  much  better  than  her ;  he  liked  her  better 
than  Lord  Wargrave,  and  not  so  well  as  Lord  George,  that 
was  all.  She  was  kind  to  him,  and  he  liked  her,  —  nay,  he 
loved  her ;  but  he  thought  that  it  would  be  much  pleasanter 
when  all  this  trouble  was  over,  and  Austin  came  and  married 
her.  Then  there  would  be  glorious  times  indeed. 

Of  course  the  little  world  of  Ems  —  not  an  entirely  respec 
table  little  world  —  talked  about  them,  but  I  don't  think  any 
one  was  the  worse  for  their  talking.  The  two  people  whom 
they  talked  about  never  heard  it,  and  so  it  does  not  much 
matter.  Eleanor  and  Lord  Edward  were  left  in  peace  all 
that  summer  without  much  to  disturb  them,  except  their 
anxiety  at  not  hearing  from  Austin. 

Aunt  Maria  was  never  troublesome  now ;  they  hardly 
noticed  what  she  did  with  herself.  Old  James  called  their 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  311 

attention  to  her  first,  after  they  had  been  there  nearly  a 
month. 

Eleanor  was  sitting  at  the  piano  alone,  in  her  great  high 
bare  room,  trying  some  music.  James  opened  the  door  very 
quietly  and  came  in.  She  heard  him,  and  turned  round  on 
the  music-stool. 

She  looked  ten  years  older  than  she  had  looked  before  all 
this  had  happened.  She  had  shown  her  sorrow  to  no  one.  She 
had  been  eating  her  heart  in  secret ;  keeping  her  griefs  for 
the  long  dark  hours  of  night,  and  showing  a  brave  front  in  the 
daytime.  She  had  been  doing  this  months  and  months  before 
this  unhappy  duel.  Her  hair  had  gray  streaks  in  it  before 
things  came  round  again. 

"  James,"  she  said,  "  where  have  you  been  so  late  ?  " 

"  I  've  been  to  Marksburg  to  see  they  sqjers  a  marching. 
They're  a  marching  from  St.  Goar  to  Coblentz, —  pretty  nigh 
two  regiments  on  'em.  And  I  goes  over  in  a  boat  to  see  'em, 
and  there  they  was,  with  kitching  candlesticks  on  their  elmets. 
Fine  men  to  look  at,  • —  ah.  And  then  I  went  in  over  the 
way,  and  seen  'ern  playing.  Lord,  worn't  she  taking  the 
money  in ! " 

"Who?" 

"  She.     Have  she  made  her  will  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  Aunt  Maria  ?  " 

"  In  course  I  do.  Do  you  know  that  she  have  won  a  thou 
sand  pound  in  eight  days  ?  " 

"  My  aunt !     Is  she  playing  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  and  winning,  too.  And  so  is  Captain  Hertford.  He 
and  she  have  had  a  tussle,  acause  he  hain't  been  to  see  her 
often  enough." 

This  was  Aunt  Maria's  employment.  She  was  gambling 
desperately.  One  day  in  September  the  end  came. 

She  had  at  first  won,  as  James  had  told  Eleanor,  above  a 


312  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

thousand  pounds.  Then  her  luck  turned.  She  lost.  She 
nearly  recovered  herself  again,  —  lost  once  more,  —  began  to 
lose  terribly.  She  was  more  than  five  hundred  pounds  "  to 
the  bad  "  one  evening  when  she  went  to  play  for  the  last  time. 

She  had  had  a  quarrel  with  Captain  Hertford.  His  luck 
had  been  terribly  good  this  season  ;  he  had  been  winning  and 
winning.  She  took  her  place  opposite  to  him  that  evening, 
and  for  the  first  time  cut  him  dead. 

He  won  beyond  all  precedent.  As  he  won,  she  seemed  to 
lose  in  proportion  ;  she  wrote  check  after  check.  At  last, 
when  she  had  lost  eight  hundred  pounds,  she  got  up,  and  made 
a  scene  which  no  one  there  ever  forgot. 

She  rose  up,  and  in  a  sharp  snarling  voice  denounced  Cap 
tain  Hertford.  She  called  him  an  ungrateful  hound,  unfit 
to  live  ;  she  screamed  out  before  them  all  the  plot  against 
Austin  and  Lord  Charles  Barty,  and  then  said  that  he,  Cap 
tain  Plertford,  had  known  all  along  that  she  was  only  an  ille 
gitimate  half-sister  of  old  Mr.  Hilton's.  She  said  fifty  other 
frantic  things,  which,  of  course,  no  one  attended  to.  The  end 
of  it  was,  that  the  gamblers  huddled  away  out  of  the  room  like 
a  herd  of  frightened  sheep,  and  left  the  terrible  old  woman 
standing  there  in  the  middle,  perfectly  insane,  trying  to  bite 
at  the  hands  of  the  two  croupiers  who  held  her. 

After  a  time  they  were  able  to  move  her.  They  had  a  ter 
rible  journey  with  her  to  England.  Her  reason  never  re 
turned.  Eleanor  got  her  safe  home  at  last.  Their  old  house 
at  Esher  had,  as  I  prophesied,  been  taken  as  a  madhouse, 
Aunt  Maria,  poor  soul,  was  taken  there,  and  there  she  stayed 
till  she  died ;  always  under  the  impression  that  it  was  their 
own  house  still,  and  that  the  other  patients  were  only  so  many 
visitors. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  313 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

AUSTIN  slept  long  the  night  after  his  release.  He  slept 
late  into  the  day,  like  a  tired  child  ;  and  at  last  when  he 
woke  he  lay  still,  waiting  for  the  dreadful  bell  which  in  prison 
had  summoned  him  and  the  other  convicts  to  rise  from  sleep, 
to  quit  the  paradise  of  dreams,  and  come  back  to  earth,  —  to 
the  cold,  hard,  reality  of  the  dull,  squalid,  hideous  prison-life. 

At  first,  when  he  had  wakened  to  consciousness  in  jail,  he 
had  always,  for  a  moment  or  so,  fancied  that  he  was  back  safe 
in  his  old  room  at  home,  and  that  the  past  was  merely  a  series 
of  bad  dreams  ;  and  he  would  sit  up  in  his  bed  to  shake  them 
off,  —  sit  up  and  look  round,  to  find  his  worst  dream  only  too 
terribly  true. 

After  a  time  he  grew  to  be  cunning  in  his  sleep  ;  to  know 
that  he  only  awoke  to  misery,  and  so  to  hold  on,  with  obstinate 
tenacity,  to  the  fag-end  of  a  dream,  as  long  as  possible,  in 
order  that  he  might  keep  it  going  until  he  was  roused  by  that 
dreadful  bell ;  for  he  found,  in  practice,  that  the  poorest  dream, 
underlain  as  it  might  be  with  the  sickening  dread  of  waking 
from  it,  was  preferable  to  the  waking  itself,  and  to  seeing  the 
four  whitewashed  walls.  The  very  stupidest  old  dream  —  a 
dream  that  he  detected  and  laughed  at  while  he  dreamt  it  — 
was  better  than  waking,  and  seeing  the  prison  walls  around 
him. 

On  this  morning  he  dreamt  that  he  was  hunted  through 
Hyde  Park  by  something  or  another  which  was  called  974 
until  he  came  to  Apsley  House,  at  which  place  he  managed  to 
rise  into  the  air,  and  triumphantly  flew  nearly  over  the  Green 
Park,  leaving  974  to  come  round  by  Constitution  Hill.  He 
wished  to  keep  in  the  air  until  the  bell  rang,  but  he  could  not. 
He  came  down  in  front  of  Buckingham  Palace,  and  woke. 

14 


314  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

He  waited  for  the  bell.  That  bell  never  rung  any  more  for 
him  :  it  rings  still  for  eight  hundred  miserable  souls,  but  not 
for  him.  After  a  few  minutes  he  began  to  see  that  he  was  in 
his  old  room  again  ;  he  sat  up,  and  found  that  it  was  true. 
For  a  minute  he  thought  that  the  whole  past  had  been  dreamt, 
but,  the  next,  he  knew  that  it  was  real,  —  that  he  had  been  in 
prison,  and  was  free.  He  fell  back  again,  and  tried  to  pray, 
but  the  utterance  of  his  prayer  was  swept  in  a  whirlwind  of 
passion. 

He  rose  and  dressed  himself.  His  resolution  had  been 
made  long  ago  in  prison  ;  he  rose  from  his  bed  calmly  deter 
mined  to  act  upon  it  at  once.  It  was  the  result  of  long,  calm 
thought,  when  his  head  was  cool,  and  his  intellect  perfectly 
clear  and  unbiassed.  He  had  said  to  himself  in  prison  :  "  What 
is  the  right  thing  to  do  ?  When  I  get  free  I  shall  be  excited, 
my  judgment  will  not  be  so  clear  as  it  is  now.  The  resolution 
made  now  must  be  inexorably  carried  out,  without  reason  or 
argument,  when  I  am  free." 

What  was  his  resolution  ?  Possibly  the  most  foolish  one 
ever  made,  —  at  all  events,  very  foolish,  as  are  all  resolutions 
made  in  the  same  spirit ;  that  is  to  say,  resolutions  made  with 
out  the  saving  clause,  "  that  they  may  be  altered  by  circum 
stances  and  after  thoughts."  These  are  indeed,  if  persisted 
in,  not  resolutions,  but  obstinacies.  Austin  had  made  himself 
a  non  possum,  and  he  was  going  to  act  on  it  at  once,  lest  the 
non  should  be  swept  away,  and  high-souled  martyrdom  should 
become  a  more  difficult  matter.  His  grand  resolution  was  this : 
To  see  Eleanor  safe  under  the  protection  of  the  Duchess  of 
Cheshire  (who  was  very  willing  to  be  kind  to  her),  and  then 
himself  go  to  —  where  ?  Why,  Canada !  and  see  her  no 
more.  And  he  carried  out  his  resolution  most  inexorably. 
He  knew  that  she  loved  him  as  he  loved  her,  and  he  would 
not  be  so  base  as  to  follow  her  with  his  ruined  fortunes ;  that 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  315 

was  one  argument,  and  the  great  one.  Besides,  she  had  shown 
her  good  sense  and  propriety  by  deserting  him,  which  was 
another. 

"  Gil,"  said  he,  sitting  by  the  forge  that  evening,  "  I  have 
been  to  see  my  attorney." 

"  May  the  deil  d — n  a'  attorneys,  barristers,  and  writers  to 
the  signet,  and  him  first  of  all,"  was  Gil's  reply. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Austin. 

"  Why ! "  said  Gil,  "  why  !  After  lee'ing  till  the  deil  dinna 
like  to  hae  him,  could  he  no  lee  loud  eneuch  to  keep  ye  out  of 
prison  ?  Being  paid  for  his  work  in  hard  guineas  and  ever 
lasting  perdition,  and  then  no  doing  it  after  all.  Why  ?  quoth 
he." 

"  Don't  you  be  an  old  fool,  Gil.  Mr.  Compton  is  as  noble 
and  good  an  old  man  as  any  in  the  kingdom.  You  will  know 
it  soon  ;  you  shall  meet  him." 

"  Meet  him  soon  !  I  'm  no  saying  contrary.  Life  is  short, 
and  no  man's  salvation  is  sure.  But  I  '11  no  speak  to  him." 

"  I  hope  you  will,  Gil." 

"  I  'in  obleeged  to  you  ;  but  there  as  here  I  '11  choose  my 
own  acquaintances." 

"  Don't  be  cross  with  me,  Gil." 

"  Cross  wi'  you.  God  forgive  me  !  Cross  wi'  my  ain  mas 
ter  (ye  '11  no  get  a  Highlandman  to  say  that  every  day  of  the 
week),  cross  with  ye  !  " 

"  I  thought  you  were.  Look  here  !  that  Mr.  Compton  has 
watched  my  interests  very  carefully  ;  he  has  been  a  very  faith 
ful  friend.  The  Crown  has  not  claimed  my  property,  and  he 
has  taken  good  care  of  it." 

"  The  Crown  no  claimed  your  property  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Have  you  got  your  own  wealth  back  again  ?  Has  the 
Queen  gi'en  ye  back  your  siller  ?  " 


316  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  She  never  took  it,  God  bless  her  !  " 

"  So  ye  '11  no  want  to  learn  the  gun  trade,  —  so  we  '11  no 
have  to  sit  pontering  here  together  over  the  dommed  old  gun- 
stocks,  —  so  all  the  happy  days  I  had  pictured  to  myself  are  all 
blasted  awa  to  the  winds.  'T  is  a  weary,  ungrateful  world." 

"  It  is  nothing  of  the  kind,  Gil.     Listen  to  me." 

"  I  '11  listen  to  ye.  But  I  did  hope  to  see  your  lang,  white 
fingers  grimed  with  the  rust  and  the  oil,  and  to  hear  ye  say, 
4  We  've  done  well  to-day,  Gil.'  Born  an  aristocrat,  die  an 
aristocrat.  Are  ye  never  to  know  the  weariness  of  thirsting 
for  work,  and  the  peace  and  happiness  of  getting  work  to  do 
at  last,  master  ?  " 

"  Don't  call  me  master,  Gil ;  call  me  friend." 

"  The  tane  involves  the  tither,  I  'm  thinking,  or  should,  if  I 
understand  it  right.  Now  I  'm  listening." 

«  Then  I  will  speak,  Gil,  faithful  old  friend.  There  are 
better  trades  than  gunmaking." 

"  I  'm  no  denying  it.  The  trades  of  Prime  Minister,  news 
paper  editor,  or  keeper  of  a  disorderly  house,  are  a  muckle 
deal  more  remunerative  ;  but  all  three  more  precarious." 

"  Now  don't  be  a  fool,"  said  Austin,  laughing,  "  or  I  won't 
speak  to  you." 

"  A  fool !  quoth  he,"  replied  Gil,  smiling,  and  hammering 
away.  "  I  thought  we  were  Radical.  If  my  master  is  going 
to  turn  Tory,  and  object  to  an  honest  bit  of  Radicalism  from  a 
puir  working-man,  why  I  must  turn  too,  and  sing  my  last  song, 
like  a  hooper  in  the  death  thraws  :  — 

'  The  Deil  was  aince  a  Tory, 

Tory  0  !  Tory  0  ! 
But  he  heard  another  story, 

Story  0  !  Story  0  ! 

"  Every  gentleman  now  is  a  Whig,"  says  he, 
"  And  each  Devil  must  dance  the  new  jig,"  says  he; 
"  And  Russell  and  Grey 
Are  the  men  of  the  day  — ' " 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  317 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  infernal  doggerel  ?  "  said  Austin, 
interrupting  him. 

"  My  father's  uncle's  first  cousin  singed  it  at  the  Deuk  of 
N — : — 's  door,  not  long  agone.  They  would  no  have  fleered 
at  the  puir  Deuk  had  they  kenned  that  his  ain  flesh  and  blude 
would  turn  against  him.  Say  yer  say,  master." 

"If  you  will  let  me.  Let  us  be  serious,  Gil.  Will  you 
come  with  me  to  Canada  ? " 

"Hey?" 

"  To  Canada." 

"  Ay,  to  the  world's  end.     But  there  before  all  places." 

"  There  is  a  most  brilliant  career  before  us  both  there.  I 
must  not  stay  in  England.  If,  after  what  has  happened  (I 
speak  to  you  as  the  only  friend  I  have  in  the  world,  Gil,  and 
the  best,  save  one,  I  ever  had),  —  if,  after  what  has  happened, 
I  should  stay  in  England,  I  must  get  thrown  against  some  one, 
and  that  would  end  in  dishonor.  Let  us  come  to  Canada. 
Are  you  willing  ?  " 

He  looked  at  Gil's  face,  and  saw  that  he  need  not  have 
asked  the  question.  Gil's  face  was  radiant.  He  murmured,  — 

"  Sawmon  and  park  deer,  and  muckle  red  deer,  called  wa 
piti,  whilk  they  misname  elk  ;  and  real  elk,  whilk  they  misname 
moose ;  and  a  rink  at  the  curling  in  winter  time ;  and  corn 
land  five  shilling  the  acre.  And  he  asks  me  will  I  go  ?  " 

"  I  see  you  are  willing.  Let  us  go.  Let  us  take  that  poor 
convict  Goatley  with  us.  Let  us  try  to  do  something  for  him. 
Who  knows  what  his  opportunities  have  been,  Gil  ?  Do  you 
agree  about  that  ?  " 

"  God's  wrath  should  light  on  us  if  we  left  him  behind. 
Poor  creature  !  There  is  good  in  him  somewhere,  or  he  'd  no 
have  stuck  by  you  and  the  governor  the  day  before  yesterday. 
Canada,  quoth  he.  And  you  with  your  wealth  there.  Think 
of  the  poor  starving  Ronaldsay  folk,  master ;  think  how  leal 


318  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

and  trusty  and  quiet  they  have  been  through  this  horrible 
winter.  It  is  no  business  of  yours,"  continued  Gil,  laying  his 
hands  on  Austin's  shoulders,  "  but,  for  my  sake,  and  it 's  the 
only  favor  I  '11  ever  ask,  help  some  of  them  over.  I  '11  go  bail 
that,  in  mere  money,  they  will  pay  everv  farthing  of  which 
you  advance  ;  but  that  is  only  insulting  you.  You  know  what 
a  grand  work  is  before  you.  I  see  you  know  that." 

"  I  do,  Gil ;  and,  please  God,  I  will  do  it.  Is  there  no 
nobler  work  than  griming  my  hands  with  rust  and  oil,  hey  ? 
Is  mechanical  work  the  highest  or  the  lowest  kind  of  work, 
hey  ?  Would  you  have  me  cast  aside  all  my  education,  and 
set  to  work  cleaning  gun-barrels,  hey  ?  How  now,  old 
man  ?  " 

"  I  was  wrong ;  and  wealth,  in  a  good  man's  hands,  is  one 
of  God's  greatest  blessings.  I  had  a  fancy  that  you  and  I 
might  have  gone  through  the  world  together  as  equals.  And 
the  fancy  was  dear  to  me,  I  'm  no  denying.  But  it  is  gone ; 
you  have  nobler  work  in  hand  than  gun-cleaning." 

So  he  had.  Austin  had  a  grand  life's  work  before  him,  and 
he  did  that  work  gloriously  well.  But  neither  he  nor  Gil 
knew  where  his  life's  work  lay  at  this  time.  It  did  not  lay  in 
Canada,  but  in  a  far  different  place. 

"  Gil,"  said  Austin,  "  we  will  go  through  the  world  as 
friends  and  equals,  though  you  may  choose  to  call  me  master. 
We  will  go  to  Canada,  and  Mr.  Monroe  shall  send  us  over  the 
Ronaldsay  folks,  and  we  will  call  the  estate  Ronaldsay.  But 
I  have  something  to  do  first.  I  shall  have  to  go  abroad.  I 
must  start  to-morrow  ;  I  cannot  leave  England  before  I  have 
done  something.  I  must  see  Lord  Kdward  Barty,  and  also, 
if  it  be  possible,  the  Duchess  of  Cheshire.  By  the  by,  where 
is  Robin?" 

Gil  pursed  up  his  mouth  as  if  he  was  going  to  whistle,  and 
said, — 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  319 

"  It  was  no  my  fault." 

"  Is  he  dead  ?  "  said  Austin,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  No,  he 's  no  deid." 

"Is  he  lost?" 

"  No,  he  's  no  lost  either.  It  was  no  my  fault ;  a  dog  who 
will  to  Cupar,  maun  to  Cupar.  I  whistled  till  my  een  danced 
in  my  heid,  and  I  cried,  '  Here  !  lad,  here  !  The  cow 's  in  the 
potatoes  ! '  But  he  'd  no  listen.  He  kept  leaping  up  on  her 
braw  gray  silk  gown,  and  she  kept  bending  down  to  him,  and 
saying,  '  Eobin  !  Robin  !  my  own  darling  Robin  !  '  till  it 
would  have  garred  ye  greet,  sir,  to  hear  her.  And  he  caught 
sight  of  Lord  John  Russell's  gray  cat  (it  was  in  Cheshara 
Place,  ye  ken),  and  hunted  it  into  his  Lordship's  ain  area,  and 
ran  between  his  Lordship's  legs,  as  he  was  approaching  his 
ain  door,  and  misbehaved  like  any  Tory  ;  and  so  he  went  with 
her  round  the  end  of  the  railings,  and  into  her  house  with  her, 
and  the  door  was  shut." 

"  With  her  !  —  with  whom  ?  " 

"  With  Miss  Hilton." 

"  Is  she  in  London  ?  " 

"  I  dinna  ken.  She  was  twa  days  ago.  But  with  these 
here-to-day  and  gone-to-morrow  railways,  a  body  must  bo 
cautious  in  speaking." 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

So  she  was  safe  in  London:  that  was  something  off  his 
mind.  He  gave  Gil  long  instructions  to  try  and  get  hold  of 
old  James,  and  to  cross-question  him  (a  hopeful  plan)  ;  but 
Gil  was  not  required  to  act.  A  note  came  from  Eleanor  the 
very  next  morning  :  — 


320  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  DEAR  AUSTIN, 

"  I  sent  James  to  tlie  prison  yesterday,  and  he  brought  back 
the  news  that  you  were  free.  Is  this  to  continue  ?  Are  we 
never  to  see  one  another  again  ?  " 

He  replied  promptly,  and  at  once  :  — • 

"  DEAREST  ELEANOR, 

"  It  is  impossible,  considering  everything,  that  I  should  ever 
meet  you,  or  Edward  Barty,  again.  Our  eternal  and  final 
parting  must  come  soon :  it  is  better  that  we  should  not  make 
it  more  bitter  by  another  meeting." 

This  letter  was  despatched,  and,  of  course,  there  was  no 
answer  to  it. 

Eleanor  wept  bitterly  and  wildly  over  it,  but  she  saw  no 
remedy.  She  said  that  misfortune  had  soured  Austin's  noble 
nature,  —  that  he  was  not  himself.  She  must  get  speech  with 
him ;  there  must  be  something  unexplained.  In  an  evil  mo 
ment  she  read  the  two  letters  to  Lord  Edward  Barty. 

He  was  furiously  angry ;  he  made  her  a  scene  about  the 
matter.  He  said  that  Austin's  wrong-headed,  obstinate  pride 
was  below  contempt.  He,  after  all,  had  suffered  no  more  than 
the  rest  of  them  ;  and  here  was  he,  in  his  insane  vanity,  refus 
ing  to  answer  their  most  affectionate  letters  until  he  was  out 
of  prison,  and  then  sending  such  an  answer  as  that !  "  I  tell 
you,  Eleanor,"  he  said,  "  that  if  we  want  to  get  our  own  dear 
Austin  back  to  us,  we  must  let  him  go  at  present.  He  will 
come  to  us  in  the  end,  my  dear  creature,  but  we  must  show 
him  that  we  are  angry  now.  We  have  sacrificed  everything 
to  him,  and  he  treats  us  like  this !  It  is  monstrous  !  " 

"  Lord  Edward,"  said  Eleanor,  "  Austin  has  been  deceived." 

"  By  whom  ?  " 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  321 

"  By  me.  I  have  deceived  him.  He  has  found  it  out,  and 
he  distrusts  me." 

"  Deceived  him  ?  —  about  what  ?  " 

"  Never  mind.  I  did  it,  as  I  thought,  for  the  best.  I  fear 
he  has  great  cause  of  complaint  against  me." 

"  Fiddlededee  !  I  won't  ask  any  questions,  because  I  know 
something  about  your  family  history  ;  but  take  a  blind  fool's 
advice,  —  don't  run  after  him.  Let  him  come  to  you.  He 
will  come,  Eleanor.  Let  Mm  come,  and  make  his  explana 
tion.  Wait  until  he  is  thrown  against  you,  as  he  must  be  in  a 
week  or  so.  Come,  now  ;  trust  me  you  will  find  yourself  the 
more  hereafter." 

"  But  if  I  were  never  to  see  him  again  ?  " 

"  Pish  !  The  very  fact  of  your  having  his  dog  with  you 
will  bring  on  some  sort  of  communication.  Leave  things  to 
time,  Eleanor  ;  he  will  come  back  to  us  when  he  is  tired  of 
isolation." 

This  would  have  been  most  excellent  advice  had  it  not  been 
for  this,  —  that  Austin  was  just  now  making  every  preparation 
for  the  start  to  Canada,  and  that  the  getting  no  answer  to  his 
last  note  hurried  his  movements. 

"  It  is  all  for  the  best,"  he  said,  "  she  is  right  not  to  answer. 
She  is  wise ;  it  is  my  fault.  She  deceived  me  shamefully, 
and  she  knows  it ;  she  does  not  know  that  I  love  her  better 
than  ever ;  my  honor,  as  a  man,  would  bo  tarnished,  if  I  made 
her  any  further  advances.  I  wish  to  God  that  her  nine  thou 
sand  a  year  was  gone  to  the  Devil.  I  wish  she  was  penniless  ; 
in  that  case  I  would  go  to  her  to-morrow.  But  she  deceived 
me,  and  she  has  nine  thousand  a  year,  and  the  whole  thing  is 
impossible." 

So  the   Canadian  preparations  went  on,  and  Austin  and 
Goatley  took  a  lodging  in  the  Commercial  Road,  to  be  near 
the  docks,  and  to  see  after  the  shipping  of  their  "  notions." 
14*  u 


322  AUSTIN   ELLIOT. 

Gil  deserted  the  gun  trade,  and  came  with  them  after  a 
week.  They  were  very  busy.  Austin  was  making  great 
preparations  ;  he  was  going  to  buy  a  great  tract  of  land  in 
Canada,  and  to  introduce  a  new  system  of  husbandry.  He 
was  not  in  the  least  aware  that  all  kinds  of  agricultural 
implements  might  be  bought  in  Massachusetts  and  Connecti 
cut  cheaper  than  in  London.  So  he  bought  away,  —  bought 
implements  from  Deane  and  Dray,  to  the  tune  of  hundreds, 
—  which  implements  were  the  best  in  the  world  —  for  English 
use  ;  bought,  for  instance,  two  or  three  broad-wheeled  carts, 
with  Crosskill's  axles,  eminently  adapted  for  macadamized 
roads,  but  hardly  for  the  backwoods ;  and  so  on.  But  he  was 
very  busy,  which  was  something. 

One  night,  sitting  gloomily  in  his  lodging,  in  the  Commer 
cial  Road,  after  having  been  on  board  the  ship  all  day,  he 
thought  of  his  dog  Robin  ;  and  a  desire  arose  in  him  to  have 
that  dog  back  again.  The  dog  was  with  Eleanor,  and  he 
determined  to  go  after  it  the  next  day.  He  did  go  after  it, 
and  he  got  it,  and  in  this  adventure,  he,  as  nearly  as  possible, 
met  Eleanor  herself,  face  to  face. 

He  did  not  meet  her,  but  if  he  had  they  would  have 
explained  everything  to  one  another,  —  even  that  dreadful 
circumstance,  which  rankled  in  Austin's  heart  deeper  than 
all,  —  his  finding  her  walking  with  Captain  Hertford  in  Mill- 
bank.  This  was  the  fact  which  made  him  so  obstinate  with 
her.  He  could  have  forgiven  her  desertion  of  him,  —  he 
could  have  forgiven  everything  but  her  deceit,  and  his  discov 
ery  of  it. 

So  he  went  for  his  dog.  He  watched  at  the  end  of  the  rail 
ings  in  Wilton  Crescent,  and  he  saw  her  come  out.  .  The  dog 
was  not  with  her.  She  was  going  to  church.  He  waited 
patiently  till  she  came  back,  —  and  still  he  waited  on. 

By  and  by,  after  more  than  an  hour,  the  little  gray  figure 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  323 

came  out  again.  Ah,  Lord  !  How  Austin  loved  her.  Why 
did  he  not  go  up  to  her,  and  speak  ?  Because  the  jealous 
devil,  which  he  had  made  believe  to  banish,  was  holding  high 
court  in  his  heart. 

Robin  was  with  her  now ;  he  came  out  of  the  door  like  a 
thunderbolt.  There  were  five  sparrows  in  the  middle  of  the 
road;  at  dinner.  Robin  would  have  nothing  of  that  sort ;  he 
sent  them  flying  up  into  the  lilac-trees  and  chimney  pots,  for 
their  bare  lives,  and  then  he  danced,  barking,  round  Eleanor. 

Eleanor  was  walking  towards  St.  Paul's  Church,  probably 
going  to  Westerton's.  Austin  was  standing  behind  the  corner 
of  the  railings,  at  the  southwest  corner  of  the  Crescent.  He 
saw  that  the  dog  was  going  with  her  the  other  way,  and  he 
whistled  shrill  and  sharp.  "  I  wonder  if  she  will  know  my 
whistle,"  said  Austin. 

She  did  not,  but  the  dog  did.  He  paused,  with  one  ear  up, 
and  the  other  down ;  and  his  head  on  one  side.  Austin 
whistled  once  more.  This  time,  Robin  came  rushing  towards 
him  like  a  race-horse  ;  and  left  Eleanor  calling,  "  Robin ! 
Robin  !  you  naughty  dog,  Robin,  come  here,  sir ! " 

When  Austin  saw  that  the  dog  was  on  his  trail,  and  that 
Eleanor  had  not  recognized  him,  he  ran  round  into  Motcomb 
Street.  An  instant  after,  Robin  came  tearing  round,  on  the 
grand  circle-sailing  principle  (that  is  to  say,  that  a  circle  is  a 
circle,  and  that  the  nearest  way  from  one  place  to  another  is 
a  straight  line  drawn  between  them),  combined  with  that  of 
circular  storms,  which  is,  that  you  go  one  fifth  per  cent  to  lee 
ward  for  every  revolution.  He,  Robin,  sailed  on  these  prin 
ciples,  but  violated  both.  The  first,  because  he  assumed 
himself  to  be  sailing  on  a  convex  surface,  instead  of  (as  was 
the  case)  practically  a  plane.  The  second,  because  he  did  not 
allow  sufficient  latitude  for  his  progressive  momentum.  The 
combination  of  these  two  errors,  acting  together,  caused  him 


324  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

to  make  too  wide  a  circle  in  coming  round  the  corner,  and  to 
bring  himself  against  what  we  may  be  allowed  to  call  the  lee 
ward  area  railings  of  Motcomb  Street,  and  to  give  a  short 
howl,  at  having  bruised  himself  against  them  ;  which  last  fact 
would  be  better  theorized  on  by  Dr.  Brown  than  by  either 
Maury  or  Reid. 

By  the  time  that  Robin  had  picked  himself  up,  Austin  was 
at  the  end  of  the  street.  He  whistled  again,  and  Robin  came 
tearing  on  once  more.  Austin  stepped  round  the  corner,  into 
Lowndes  Street,  and  waited  ;  he  was  safe  here.  Robin  found 
him  by  Gunter's  shop,  and  leaped  up,  frantically  yelping  in 
the  madness  of  his  joy  ;  and  Austin  then  and  there,  the  street 
being  empty,  or  nearly  so,  took  Robin  to  his  bosom,  and 
hugged  him. 

"  You  never  see  such  a  queer  start  in  your  life,"  said  one 
of  the  young  men  at  Gunter's  to  one  of  the  young  ladies  at 
Miller's  (to  whom  he  was  engaged),  that  evening,  "/know 
him,  and  all  the  whole  business ;  how  he  was  in  prison,  and  all 
that.  And  I  see  him  come  cutting  round  the  corner  like  a 
lunatic ;  and  I  says,  '  He 's  broke  out,  and  the  police  is  after 
him ! '  And  I  run  out  to  see  if  I  could  get  him  through  the 
shop,  or  up-stairs,  or  anythink.  And  then  I  seen  him  hugging 
of  his  dog  to  his  bosom.  And  well  I  knew  the  dog.  He  used 
to  come  into  our  place  with  the  whole  lot  on  'em, — Lord 
Charles,  poor  fellow,  and  Mr.  Austin,  and  the  blind  .one,  and 
Miss  Hilton,  from  number  fifteen ;  and  he  used  to  chivy  the 
cat  into  the  window  among  the  bon-bons,  and  play  the  deuce, 
and  all.  And  one  day  he  upset  the  table  with  Lady  Dumble- 
dorc's  wedding-cake  on  it,  and  then  there  was  the  dickens  to 
pay.  /never  see  such  a  dog." 

"  And  so  poor  Mr.  Elliot  was  glad  to  get  his  dog  back 
again,"  said  the  young  lady  from  Miller's. 

"  He  was  so,  poor  gentleman  ;  you  never  see  anything  like 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  325 

it.     Here  he  stood,  as  it  might  be  me,  and  there  was  the  dog, 
as  it  might  be  you,  and  he  catches  the  dog  to  his  bosom  —  " 

And  the  young  man  from  Gunter's  immediately  received 
two  sound  boxes  on  the  ear,  as  a  caution  that  prose  narrative 
must  not  be  assisted  by  dramatic  action. 

The  Canadian  preparations  went  briskly  on.  Gil  worked 
like  fifty  Gils  ;  and  Austin,  partly  in  the  novelty  of  feeling 
free  again,  and  partly  to  extinguish  thought,  worked  as  hard 
as  he. 

He  would  not  think :  he  would  not  pause.  His  resolution 
had  been  taken  when  his  head  was  cool,  and  must  be  acted 
on  now  :  so  he  was  intensely  busy. 

Goatley,  the  convict,  worked  as  well  as  he  could ;  but  that 
was  not  very  well.  He  had  a  careless,  sleepy  way  of  doing 
things,  which  provoked  Gil  very  much.  He  never  let  Goatley 
see  that  he  was  provoked ;  for  Goatley  was  a  kind  of  sacred 
person  to  Gil.  He  was  an  unaccountable  being,  and  he  had 
played  the  man  at  the  right  time.  Gil  was  kind  to  him. 

Austin  kept  him  near  him  continually ;  for  he  was  afraid  of 
his  meeting  some  old  companion,  and  getting  into  trouble ;  but 
Austin  hoped  to  keep  him  straight  till  they  got  to  Canada. 
He  was  an  odd,  wayward,  unaccountable  creature.  He  never 
gave  Austin  much  account  of  himself  that  Austin  could  rely 
on.  If  Austin  pressed  him  too  much,  he  became  vacant  and 
irritable  ;  if  further,  a  kind  of  dumb,  sulky  devil  would  take 
possession  of  him,  and  he  would  hardly  answer  at  all,  or  only 
in  the  most  transparent  lies,  which  he  could  see  irritated 
Austin. 

He  at  ordinary  times  spoke  but  little.  Sometimes  he  would, 
after  a  long  silence,  break  out  with  an  abrupt  question.  After 
sitting  a  long  while  one  day,  he  broke  out,  — 

"  If  I  was  in  your  place,  I  should  take  out  a  large  quan- 


326  AUSTIN  ELLIOT.   - 

tity  of  potatoes.  May  be  they  have  n't  got  the  same  sorts 
there." 

There  was  nothing  more  in  this  than  the  mere  silliness  of 
an  utterly  ignorant  person.  But  there  was  a  great  deal  more 
in  the  way  in  which,  after  he  had  once  started  this  notion,  he 
ran  it  to  the  death.  He  got  it  into  his  head  that  there  was 
something  in  it ;  and  walking  about  the  Commercial  Road 
with  Austin,  he  was  continually  stopping  him  at  every  potato 
shop,  and  making  inquiries  about  ash-leafed  kidneys,  and 
regents,  and  so  on.  He  was  fully  persuaded  that  he  would 
make  his  fortune  in  Canada  by  taking  over  new  sorts  of  pota 
toes.  Austin  told  Gil  that  the  poor  fellow  seemed  mad  on  the 
subject.  Gil  replied,  — 

"  A  good  thing,  too.  He  had  better  go  mad  on  one  single 
subject.  Mad  he  is,  and  will  be.  He  had  better  gang  mad 
on  ane  point  than  on  a  dizzen." 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  go  mad,  Gil  ?  "  said  Austin. 

"  Deil  doubt  it !  A'  this  leeing  and  this  talking  so  and  so 
shows  that  his  brain  is  softening.  It  will  end  in  general 
paralysis ;  a  slight  dropping  of  the  lower  jaw,  combined  with 
occasional  violence." 

"  Who  told  you  that  ?  " 

"  Naebody.  I  just,  thinking  about  the  young  man,  ran  my 
eye  over  Dr.  Tuke's  book  the  ither  night.  I'm  no  agreeing 
with  the  doctor  in  all  things,  but  he  has  muckle  experience." 

Since  Austin  had  taken  his  degree,  he  had  confined  his 
reading  to  the  newspapers.  He  changed  the  subject. 

One  day,  when  all  things  were  nearly  ready,  and  Austin 
had  come  to  be  as  well  known  on  board  the  good  ship  Amphion 
as  the  skipper  himself,  he  took  Goatley  with  him  to  help  him 
in  stowing  some  packages.  They  worked  together  all  the 
morning.  When,  at  noon,  they  came  out  on  the  wharf  agaiiij 
Goatley  said,  suddenly,— 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  327 

"  I  am  going  away  from  you  to-morrow." 

"Whither?"  said  Austin. 

"  To  a  public  house.  To  the  '  Black  Bull '  in  the  Commer 
cial  Road.  I  have  business  there." 

"  You  will  come  to  me  in  the  evening,"  said  Austin,  "  for 
you  will  not  sleep  away  from  your  lodgings.  I  am  so  fearful 
of  your  getting  among  your  old  companions,  my  poor  fellow." 

"  Is  that  why  you  watch  me  so  ?  "  said  Goatley. 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  reason,"  said  Austin  ;  "  you  are  so  weak 
and  foolish,  my  poor  lad.  I  think  how  much  I  owe  you,  and 
think  how  anxious  I  am  to  give  you  a  new  start  in  life,  with 
out  temptation.  I  do  watch  you,  and  I  will." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Goatley,  "  you  are  quite  right.  But 
you  need  not  watch  me  to-morrow,  I  am  going  to  see  a  rela 
tion,  the  only  relation  I  have,  who  is  coming  to  wish  me 
good-by." 

"  You  never  told  me  that  you  had  any  relations,"  said  Austin. 

"  I  daresay  not,"  said  Goatley,  sulkily,  "  but  I  have.  And 
one  of  them  is  coming  to  bid  me  good-by  to-morrow." 

"  One  of  them  ?  "  said  Austin.  "  You  said  there  was  only 
one  just  now." 

"  Never  you  mind  what  I  said ;  you  Ve  often  called  me  a 
liar.  Don't  you  ask  any  questions,  may  be  I  won't  tell  you 
any  lies." 

Austin  knew  enougli  of  his  man  to  let  the  subject  drop.  At 
noon  the  next  day  Goatley  left  the  ship ;  and  Austin,  going 
the  same  way,  saw  him  walking  rapidly  up  the  Commercial 
Road. 

"  It  would  be  mere  charity  to  follow  him,"  thought  he  ;  "  I 
think  I  had  better  follow  him.  I  do  not  like  to  trust  him. 
Robin!  Robin!" 

It  was  time  to  call  "  Robin  !  Robin  ! "  A  marine-store 
keeper's  cat  had  been  over  to  visit  a  puffing  grocer's  cat  oppo- 


328  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

site,  and  was  picking  her  way  homewards  across  the  muddy 
street.  Robin  ran  after  her.  She,  like  an  idiot,  ran  away, 
and  Robin,  by  the  law  of  gravity,  or  some  similar  law,  bolted 
after  her.  The  cat,  not  being  able  to  make  her  own  port  on 
the  present  tack,  in  consequence  of  the  enemy  being  to  wind 
ward  of  her,  put  her  helm  down,  altered  her  course  four 
points,  and  made  all  sail  for  the  nearest  harbor  to  leeward, 
which  was  the  pigeon-fancier's ;  and  Robin,  disregarding  the 
law  of  nations,  made  a  perfect  Wilkes  of  himself,  and  chased 
her  right  into  the  neutral  harbor,  overturning  a  cage  contain 
ing  five-and-twenty  "blue  rocks"  in  his  career,  and  at  last 
succeeded  in  forcing  an  engagement  in  the  pigeon-fancier's 
back  parlor,  under  his  table. 

Here  he  found  himself  under  the  guns  of  several  neutral 
batteries,  which  opened  fire  on  him  and  the  cat  with  perfect 
impartiality.  The  cat  bolted  up  the  chimney,  but  Robin,  as 
in  duty  bound,  returned  the  fire  of  the  neutral  batteries,  — 
that  is  to  say,  setting  our  figure  aside,  that  the  pigeon-fancier 
and  his  wife  (who  were  at  dinner)  tried  to  kick  him  out,  and 
that  he  showed  fight,  and  snapped  at  their  legs. 

At  this  moment,  when  war  seemed  inevitable,  diplomacy 
stepped  in,  in  the  person  of  Austin.  Robin  was  rebuked. 
The  affair  was  gone  calmly  into.  Apologies  were  given  on 
the  one  side,  and  frankly  received  on  the  other,  and  the  whole 
thing  was  comfortably  settled.  Then  Austin  walked  away 
up  the  Commercial  Road  with  Robin,  laughing,  with  no  more 
notion  of  what  was  going  to  happen  to  him  than  has  the 
render,  perhaps  not  so  much. 

He  went  into  the  "  Black  Bull."  He  asked  the  landlord 
whether  a  young  man  had  come  in  just  now.  The  landlord 
said  what  sort  of  a  young  man,  and  Austin  described  Goatley. 

"  What,  Browning  ?  "  said  the  landlord.  Austin  had  never 
heard  of  him  by  that  name,  but  felt  sure  of  his  man,  because 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  329 

the  landlord  had  recognized  him  from  his  description.  The 
reader  will  most  probably  not  remember  that  this  was  the 
name  given  by  the  Secretary  of  State  to  the  convict  Goat- 
ley. 

Austin  said,  "  Yes,"  feeling  sure  of  his  man.  The  landlord 
said  that  he  was  there,  —  that  he  was  going  to  Canada,  and 
that  one  of  his  relations  had  come  to  bid  him  good-by ;  they 
were  in  an  inner  parlor  now. 

Austin  was  glad  to  find  that  Goatley  had  not  deceived  him. 
He  told  the  landlord  that  he  would  go  inside  and  take  a  glass 
of  ale  and  a  biscuit,  and  wait  for  the  young  man. 

So  mine  host  showed  him  into  a  rambling  old  room  on  one 
side  of  a  passage,  with  some  fifty  angles  in  it.  There  was  a 
bagatelle-board  there,  and  Austin  ate  his  biscuit,  and  sipped 
his  ale,  and  knocked  the  balls  about.  Robin  had  some  biscuit, 
and  lay  down  on  the  hearth-rug. 

Austin  began  to  be  aware  that  there  were  voices  talking 
low  in  another  room,  —  in  the  room  on  the  other  side  of  the 
passage.  Robin  became  aware  of  it  too,  and  began  to  be 
naughty. 

At  first  he  only  put  his  nose  against  the  door  and  whined. 
Austin  went  on  knocking  the  bagatelle-balls  about,  and  making 
the  most  wonderful  strokes.  He  got  petulant  with  Robin,  and 
ordered  him  to  lie  down  ;  but  Robin  would  not,  —  he  reared 
himself  up  against  the  door  and  scratched  at  it. 

Austin  made  a  beautiful  stroke,  —  there  never  was  such  a 
stroke.  Some  of  these  bagatelle-boards  were  very  good.  He 
was  placing  the  balls  to  see  if  he  could  do  it  again,  when 
Robin  reared  up  against  the  door  and  began  barking. 

Austin  hit  him  a  tap  with  the  cue.  But  it  was  no  Ui=e,  — 
the  dog  was  mad.  He  did  not  mind  the  blow.  He  began 
barking  furiously,  and  tearing  at  the  door  with  his  teeth. 

Austin    d — d    him,  and  opened  the    door   for  him.     The 


330  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

dog  dashed  across  the  passage,  and  threw  himself  against  a 
door  on  the  other  side,  which  burst  open.  Austin  followed  to 
apologize. 

Only  two  steps.  There  he  stood  like  a  stone  image  in  the 
squalid  passage,  with  the  billiard-cue  in  his  hand. 

He  saw  a  public  house  parlor  before  him,  and  a  dirty  table, 
and  a  picture  of  the  Queen,  and  a  horse-hair  sofa.  And  on 
that  sofa  sat  Eleanor  Hilton,  and  beside  her  the  convict  Goat- 
ley.  The  convict  had  his  arm  round  Eleanor's  waist,  and 
Eleanor  was  tenderly  smoothing  his  close-cropped  hair  with 
her  hand. 

He  was  amazed  for  one  instant,  —  only  for  one.  When 
Goatley  turned  his  head  towards  him,  attracted  by  the  sudden 
entrance  of  Robin,  Austin  saw  it  all.  Now  he  understood 
Eleanor's  mysterious  pilgrimages,  —  now  he  knew  her  secret, 
—  now  he  knew  why  he  had  found  her  walking  with  Captain 
Hertford  on  the  15th  of  May,  —  now  he  knew  why  he  had 
thought  himself  mad  when  he  had  first  seen  this  man  in 
prison.  All  the  truth  came  to  him  suddenly  like  a  blaze  of 
lightning  on  a  dark  night,  —  when  Goatley  turned  his  face 
towards  him,  and  he  saw  it  beside  Eleanor's,  he  understood 
everything.  This  Goatley  —  this  convict  —  was  Robert 
Hilton,  —  the  thief  at  school,  —  the  swindler  in  the  army, — 
the  forger  of  Lord  Mewstone's  name.  It  was  Robert  Hilton, 
Eleanor's  own  brother.  And  he  dropped  the  billiard-cue,  and 
cried  out  like  a  strong  man  in  pain  :  "  Eleanor  !  Eleanor  !  I 
see  it  all.  Can  you  forgive  me  ?  can  you  ever  forgive  me  ?  " 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

THERE  was  no  great  need  of  explanations  after  this,  for 
there  was  but  little  to  be  explained.  In  the  happy  peace 
which  he  felt  in  having  her  beside  him  once  more,  he  never 
thought  of  asking  her  why  she  had  deserted  him.  That  had 
been  the  thing  which  had  angered  him  more  than  any,  but  it 
was  nothing  now.  She  had  run  into  his  arms  with  a  low,  glad 
cry  when  she  had  seen  him  ;  and  he  was  sitting  with  her,  with 
her  hand  in  his.  He  was  listening  to  her  dear,  dear  voice 
again.  Explanation?  One  half  of  her  conduct  had  been 
explained  ;  if  she  could  not  explain  the  other,  why,  then  — 
What  mattered  it  ?  He  had  got  her  back  again  ;  what  cared 
he  for  explanations  P 

She  opened  the  question.  "  Why  did  you  never  answer 
my  letters,  dear  Austin  ?  " 

"  Your  letters,  faithless  woman  !  why  did  you  never  write 
to  me  ?  " 

"  Edward  Barty  and  I  wrote  to  you,  until  hope  was  dead, 
Austin.  Did  they  all  arrive  during  your  fever  ?  The  gov 
ernor  has  not  dared  to  suppress  them." 

"  The  governor  dare  do  a  great  many  things,  Eleanor.  He 
dared  to  run  unarmed  among  eight  hundred  outcasts,  for  in 
stance.  I  don't  know  whether  he  dare  suppress  my  letters  ; 
but  I  know  that  he  would  not,  if  he  dare." 

They  were  much  too  happy  to  think  about  the  mystery. 
They  found  it  all  out  afterwards.  Aunt  Maria's  maid  con 
fessed  everything  when  taxed  with  it,  and  threw  herself  on  the 
ground  and  prayed  for  forgiveness,  let  her  hair  down,  kicked 
her  shoes  off,  made  them  a  lady's  maid's  scene  about  it,  and, 
being  forgiven,  was  carried  off  whooping  and  plunging,  arid 
holding  on  tight  by  everything  she  could  get  hold  of.  And 


332  AUSTIN  ELLTOT. 

after  her  departure,  when  old  James  came  back  into  the  room 
to  pick  up  her  shoes  and  her  hair-pins,  and  so  on,  he  looked 
very  much  ashamed  of  himself,  and  confessed  that  she,  meaning 
poor  Aunt  Maria,  had  been  "  too  many  for  him." 

Robert's  statement  was  this,  as  far  as  they  could  trust 
it.  lie  said  that  when  he  ran  off  to  Namur  (he  would  not  go 
into  particulars),  Captain  Hertford  followed  him.  That  he 
told  a  friend  of  his  (Robert  Hilton's)  to  spread  a  report  of  his 
suicide.  That  his  friend  met  Captain  Hertford  and  told 
him.  That  Captain  Hertford  had,  without  making  any  further 
inquiries,  returned  to  Brussels.  And  also  that  Captain  Hert 
ford  was  uncommon  glad  not  to  see  him  (Robert  Hilton)  in 
the  dock. 

This  was  all  Austin  ever  got  out  of  him  :  from  this  he 
formed  the  theory  that  there  was  something  "queer,"  some 
gambling  transaction,  or  something  of  that  sort,  between 
Robert  Hilton  and  Captain  Hertford.  He  never  proved  it, 
and  poor  Hilton  getting  more  stupid  every  day,  now  never 
told  him  ;  but  he  thought  that  it  was  the  case.  Another  thing 
which  puzzled  Austin  was  this,  did  Captain  Hertford  ever 
really  believe  that  Robert  Hilton  was  dead  ?  That  puzzle  was 
never  solved  either. 

Eleanor's  statement  was  this :  Captain  Hertford  had  re 
turned  from  abroad,  and  brought  the  news  of  her  brother's 
death  at  Namur.  Aunt  Maria  introduced  him  as  an  old  friend. 
She  had  seen  him  a  good  deal  from  that  time  (summer  of 
1844)  until  October,  1845.  Then  one  day  he  came  and  told 
them,  not  only  that  her  brother  was  alive,  but  that  he  was  in 
Millbank  for  swindling.  That  Lord  Mewstone  was  a  most 
vindictive  man,  and  that  the  secret  of  Robert  Hilton's  exist 
ence  should  be  kept  from  him.  He  was  very  vindictive  about 
that  forgery,  for  instance. 

Eleanor  and  Austin,  when  they  came  to  think  about  it,  were 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  633 

of  opinion  that  Captain  Hertford  was  very  anxious  that  Robert 
Hilton  should  not  appear  in  the  dock  in  the  matter  of  the 
Mewstone  forgery.  They  may  have  done  him  an  injustice, 
they  never  made  out  anything  clearly  against  him  here. 

Eleanor,  hearing  this  terrible  news,  determined  that  her 
brother  should  be  free  and  out  of  the  way,  before  she  con 
sented  to  marry  Austin.  It  would  have  been  such  a  death 
blow  to  all  his  high  hopes  to  marry  a  convict's  sister.  She 
kept  the  secret  from  him  out  of  mere  love  and  consideration 
for  him.  No  one  knew  the  secret  but  Aunt  Maria,  Eleanor, 
old  James,  and  Captain  Hertford.  She  used  to  go  and  visit 
the  poor  fellow  once  a  month,  on  the  fifteenth  of  each  month  ; 
and  Hertford,  who  seems  to  have  pitied  her  at  one  time,  some 
times  went ;  it  was  on  returning  from  one  of  these  expeditions 
that  Austin  met  her,  holding  Captain  Hertford's  arm. 

Yes,  everything  was  explained.  The  black  cloud  had  passed 
suddenly,  and  beyond  lay  the  prospect  of  the  future,  glorious 
and  golden  ;  peaceful  beneath  the  calm  summer's  sun. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

WHEN  Austin  left  Ronaldsay  in  May,  1845,  the  potatoes 
were  just  coming  out  of  the  ground,  and  the  women  and  chil 
dren,  in  the  lengthening  spring  evenings,  were  weeding  them, 
and  opening  the  earth  between  the  rows,  and  regarding  them 
complacently.  The  rich  dark-green  leaves  were  showing 
handsomely  above  the  dark  ground.  It  made  one's  heart  swell 
with  thankfulness,  to  see  the  noble  promise  of  a  harvest.  The 
old  wives  no  longer  knitted,  looking  towards  the  sea,  where 
the  good  man  and  brave  young  sons  and  husbands  were  toiling 


334  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

at  their  weary  fishing,  but  they  took  their  knitting  into  the 
potato-yard,  and  watched  here  how  the  plants  came  on.  And 
little  Ronald  and  little  Donald  and  little  Elsie  and  little  May 
gave  over  paddling  at  the  pier-end,  and  came  home  and 
weeded  the  potatoes,  and  made  believe  that  they  were  sorting 
the  lilies  and  roses  in  the  MacTavish's  grand  garden  at  Glen 
Stora  Castle,  away  yonder  in  Argyleshire. 

Sweet  summer  settled  down  upon  the  island.  The  old 
folks  had  ease  from  their  chronic  rheumatism;  the  young 
men  stayed  late  on  the  quay,  and  the  young  women  stayed 
with  them.  Elspeth,  the  beauty  of  the  island,  did  not  bring 
the  cows  home  by  herself  now ;  when  she  came  down  the  glen 
there  was  always  some  one  with  her  :  — 

"  A  voice  talked  with  her  'neath  the  shadows  cool 
More  sweet  to  her  than  song." 

The  potatoes  throve  bravely.  Before  you  were  prepared 
for  it,  the  plants  were  a  foot  high,  covered  with  purple  and 
white  blossom.  And  the  children  gathered  them :  the  purple 
ones  were  my  Leddy  MacTavish's  roses,  and  the  white  ones 
were  the  lilies  which  the  saints  in  heaven  carried  in  their 
hands  before  the  throne,  ye  ken. 

It  was  a  pleasant  summer,  and  the  potato  harvest  promised 
bravely.  For  years  the  island  had  not  been  so  merry ;  there 
was  but  one  anxious  face  on  it,  and  that  was  Mr.  Monroe's. 
He  had  been,  warned  of  something  which  the  others  knew  not 
of.  Night  after  night  he  wrestled  with  God  in  prayer,  not  for 
himself,  —  ah,  no  !  —  but  for  those  whom  God  had  given  him. 
He  prayed  that,  if  it  were  possible,  the  cup  might  pass  away ; 
and  it  did  pass  away  after  they  had  drank  of  it.  Through  the 
darkest  hour  of  it  all,  the  good  man's  faith  in  God  never  wa 
vered  for  one  instant ;  and  he  lived  to  know  how  much  wiser 
God  was  than  he. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  335 

The  minister  had  a  trouble  on  his  mind  ;  they  could  all  see 
that.  The  older  Christians  would  have  had  him  unburden  his 
mind  to  them,  but  he  would  not.  They  were  content.  He 
was  a  sainted  man  ;  he  was  one  of  God's  elect.  They  were 
content,  though  they  would  have  liked  to  share  his  secret  sor 
row  with  him. 

One  day  in  July  he  went  to  see  one  of  the  oldest  of  his 
flock,  —  a  very  old  woman,  with  a  very  quiet,  beautiful  face  ; 
a  woman  who  was  so  calmly  assured  of  her  salvation,  that 
heaven  had  began  with  her  in  this  world.  I  talked  with  such 
a  woman  in  the  West  last  year,  and  very  awful  and  beautiful 
that  talk  was,  although  the  doctrines  which  she  held  were  as 
far  apart  from  my  own  as  the  poles. 

Mr.  Monroe  found  the  old  woman  sitting  in  the  sun,  knit 
ting,  and  looking  at  the  potatoes.  The  children  were  busy 
weeding  them,  all  except  baby,  who  desired  to  weed  with  the 
rest  of  them,  but  who  was  too  confused  in  his  mind  as  to  which 
were  the  potatoes,  and  which  were  the  weeds,  to  be  trusted. 
He  had  been  accommodated  with  a  horn  spoon,  and  a  crab's 
shell  with  a  string  let  into  it,  which  served  for  a  cart,  and  left 
to  the  care  of  the  colley  bitch. 

"  God  save  you,  minister ! "  said  the  old  woman,  in  Gaelic. 
"  Will  this  brave  weather  not  serve  to  raise  the  cloud  from 
your  brow?  Am  not  I  worthy  to  share  the  secret  trouble 
which  makes  wrinkles  on  the  forehead  of  one  whom  I  shall 
wait  to  welcome  in  heaven  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  share  it  ?  "  said  Mr.  Monroe,  in  the  same 
language  ;  "  why  should  I  darken  the  glorious  evening  of  such 
a  life  as  yours,  before  the  sunset  comes  ?  I  will  not.  For 
sixty  years  you  have  known  nothing  but  poverty  and  hard 
work ;  your  husband,  your  son,  and  two  of  your  grandsons, 
have  sailed  away,  and  the  sea  has  devoured  them.  Shall  I 
throw  a  shadow  over  the  few  days  which  remain  between  you 
and  your  rest  ?  No." 


336  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  There  is  a  cloud  in  the  heaven  somewhere,"  said  the  old 
woman ;  "  your  eyes  are  younger  than  mine,  and  you  see  it, 
though  I  do  not.  It  will  burst  over  Ronaldsay :  I  know  that 
by  your  face.  Minister,  I  would  be  sorry  to  take  my  reward 
before  my  labor  was  done.  Let  me  share  your  sorrow.  The 
tide  flows  up  and  down  the  Kyle,  as  of  old,  and  the  full  moon 
floods  the  creeks  and  caves  under  the  cape.  Ben  More  stands 
firm  in  the  west.  What  is  your  sorrow,  minister  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you." 

"  See  the  brave  potatoes.  Raise  the  cloud  from  your  brow, 
minister,  and  look  at  them.  The  bravest  crop  for  years. 
Raise  the  cloud  from  your  brow,  and  thank  the  Lord  with  me. 
See,  they  are  harvesting  *  already." 

"  Harvesting !  " 

"  Go  and  see." 

He  went  in  among  the  potatoes.  The  children  had  done 
weeding,  and  were  making  nosegays  of  the  potato-flowers. 

"  Here  's  minister  !  See  here,  sir,  these  ones  are  the  French 
roses  from  my  lady's  garden  at  Glenstora,  and  these  white 
ones  are  the  lilies  of  heaven.  'T  is  a  braw  game,  minister,  is 
it  no  ?  " 

Mr.  Monroe  looked  at  the  potato  halm.  The  potatoes  were 
harvesting  with  a  vengeance :  the  leaves  were  getting  yellow 
and  curling  up  black  at  the  edges.  He  clasped  his  hands 
together  and  said,  "  Thy  will  be  done,  O  Lord  ! " 

Mr.  Monroe  had  been  warned  of  this.  He  had  hoped  and 
hoped,  and  even  now  he  continued  to  hope.  They  dug  their 
potatoes  up.  One  half  of  them  were  rotten,  the  rest  rotted  in 
the  places  where  they  were  stored  ;  "  graves,"  as  we  call  them 
in  England.  At  first  they  hoped  that  they  might  pull  through 

*  Harvesting.  This  is  the  expression  we  use  in  Hampshire  when  the 
halm  of  the  potato  turns  yellow,  and  it  is  ripe.  I  do  not  know  the  Scotch 
term ;  certainly  not  the  Gaelic. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  337 

the  winter,  and  have  seed  for  next  year.  That  hope  soon  left 
them  ;  in  the  first  week  in  November  potatoes  were  cheaper 
in  Ronaldsay  than  any  one  could  recollect.  They  were  all  in 
their  little  market  at  once.  But  at  the  end  of  the  month,  when 
the  leading  Protectionist  was  trying  to  deny  the  whole  busi 
ness,  there  were  no  potatoes  whatever.  The  potato  crop  had 
failed. 

I  should  like  to  meet  with  a  poet  who  would  make  that  a 
line  in  one  of  his  poems.  "  The  potato  crop  had  failed."  How 
we  should  laugh  at  him !  A  potato  is  ridiculous  enough,  but  a 
rotten  potato,  —  bah  ! 

All  through  November  the  south-wind  poured  steadily  up 
through  the  Kyle,  and  filled  Ronaldsay  with  mist  and  gloom. 
But  in  the  first  week  in  December,  when  the  days  were  get 
ting  towards  their  shortest,  the  north-wind  came  down,  drove 
the  mists  away,  and  invested  the  island  with  a  cold,  cruel, 
merciless  beauty.  Under  an  inexorable  brazen  sky,  every 
crag  came  out  clear  and  sharp  as  crystal,  every  cataract  was 
turned  into  a  glacier,  every  little  spouting  burn  on  the  hillside 
into  a  beautiful  ice  palace.  The  lochs  were  frozen  three  feet 
thick ;  but  the  curling-stones  lay  neglected  under  the  bed- 
place,  and  the  faded  ribands  upon  the  handles  only  served  to 
remind  the  young  men  of  the  merry  rinks  last  year,  before  the 
potatoes  rotted  and  left  them  all  starving. 

The  old  folks  died  first.  That  was  as  it  should  be.  One 
could  not  complain  at  that ;  one  might  envy  them,  but  one 
could  not  complain.  They  had  had  sixty  years  of  this  sort  of 
thing,  and  it  was  hard  if  they  were  not  to  enter  into  their  rest 
before  the  misery  grew  to  its  full  head.  The  loss  of  the  dear 
old  faces  at  the  fireside  was  very  sad,  and  the  hearts  of  those 
who  were  left  behind  .starving  ached  sorely ;  but  God  had 
taken  them  from  the  misery,  which  grew  more  terrible  as  the 
winter  went  on,  and  He  knew  best. 

15  •  Y 


338  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

Then  the  children  began  to  die,  and  this  was  very  bitter,  — 
very,  very  hard  to  bear.  The  bonny  bare-legged  little  things, 
who  had  done  no  wrong  ;  who  paddled  in  the  surf,  that  made 
wreaths  of  those  infernal  potato-flowers,  and  called  them  the 
lilies  of  heaven.  This  would  not  do  to  think  of.  To  be  locked 
up  here  in  an  island  in  the  Atlantic,  without  one  chance  of 
making  one's  voice  heard  till  it  was  too  late,  and  to  see  one's 
own  bonny  darlings  dying  before  one's  face  !  Hush  !  It  was 
well  for  the  MacTavish  that  these  men  were  Scotchmen,  not 
Irishmen  !  It  was  well  for  the  peace  of  the  kingdom  that  these 
things  happened  in  Ronaldsay  and  Lewis,  and  not  in  Manches 
ter  and  Birmingham. 

'T  was  a  weary  Halloween  for  the  poor  souls.  The  men 
who  dug  the  graves  noticed  that  day  by  day  the  frost  got 
deeper  into  the  earth.  The  fishing-lines  froze  like  wires,  the 
blocks  refused  to  run,  the  sails  were  stiff  as  boards,  and  the 
women  who  wearily,  with  blue  fingers,  knocked  the  limpets  off 
the  rocks,  to  save  themselves  from  starvation,  began  to  notice 
that  even  the  salt  water  in  the  little  pools  among  the  rocks 
was  beginning  to  freeze.  And  they  came  home  and  told  the 
men,  and  the  men  lost  heart,  and  went  no  more  a-fishing. 
How  could  they  ?  Did  you  ever  sit  hour  after  hour  fishing, 
with  fourteen  degrees  of  frost,  and  in  a  state  of  starvation  ? 
The  men  stayed  at  home,  and  lay  in  the  bed-places. 

And  then  they  began  to  die.  Yes  !  The  oldest  of  the  able- 
bodied  men  began  to  lie  down,  and  to  fall  asleep,  in  a  strange, 
quiet  way.  Perfectly  happy,  perfectly  calm.  They  would  lie 
for  a  day  or  two,  and  at  last  give  over  speaking.  In  the 
morning  they  would  be  found  quietly  dead,  without  the  sign 
of  a  spasm  on  their  faces.  This  is  no  novelist's  fancy ;  the 
author  has  seen  what  he  is  describing. 

All  ;his  time,  the  island  lay  in  the  bright  brazen  sunshine, 
more  beautiful  than  ever.  The  ducks  and  the  snipes  had  fled 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  339 

southward  ;  the  curlew  and  the  peewit  had  followed  them,  and 
the  moor  was  silent.  But  for  the  shadows  of  the  cra^s  and 

O 

corries,  which  sloped  so  long  towards  the  north ;  and  for  the 
fantastic  glaciers  on  the  hillside,  which  in  summer  time  were 
wimpling  burns  ;  one  might  have  fancied,  if  one  only  used  the 
sense  of  sight,  that  it  was  spring-time  ;  the  island  had  never 
looked  more  beautiful.  After  Christmas,  it  got  a  new  and 
more  awful  beauty.  The  wind  was  still  steady,  and  quiet 
from  the  north ;  but  one  day,  Gil  Macdonald  pointed  out  to 
Mr.  Monroe  and  the  MacTavish,  a  long  low  light-brown  line  of 
cloud,  which  was  backing  the  lower  summits  of  the  Argyleshire 
hills,  to  the  southeast. 

For  two  days  the  dun  vapor  had  grown  and  spread  until  it 
had  obscured  the  sun.  When  it  had  fairly  disappeared,  a 
broad  red  orb,  into  the  snow-cloud,  Gil  Macdonald  said,  "  I  'm 
wishing  you  good  day,  old  friend,  belike  I'll  never  see  ye 
again." 

In  the  morning  the  wind,  which  was  in  front  of  the  dull 
cloud,  begun  to  blow.  The  thermometer  rose  to  six  degrees 
of  frost,  and  there  stayed,  and  would  come  no  higher  in  spite 
of  the  southeast  wind.  Then  the  edge  of  the  cloud  reached 
them,  and  the  dust  at  the  corner  of  the  little  street  in  the  vil 
lage  begun  to  grow  white ;  and  soon  after  the  air  was  filled 
with  straying  crystals  of  snow,  which  rose  and  fell,  and  whirled 
about,  and  was  driven  into  every  cranny  and  corner.  And 
those  who  looked  towards  Ben  More  saw  that  the  towering 
peak  was  rapidly  growing  from  brown  to  gray,  and  from  gray 
to  silver. 

For  two  days  the  snow  came  down,  and  then  the  north-wind 
came  down  once  more  and  laid  his  deadly  icy  hand  on  the 
island.  The  sky  was  clear  again,  blue  overhead,  but  a  gleam 
ing  yellow  towards  the  horizon.  Ben  More  towered  up  over 
the  vast  sheets  of  snow  which  covered  the  island,  —  a  tall 
peak  of  ghastly  white,  barred  with  lines  of  purple  crag. 


340  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

The  moment  the  snow-cloud  cleared,  Mr.  Monroe  started 
Gil  Macdonald  over  the  hill,  through  the  snow,  with  provisions 
to  an  outlying  family  at  Loch  na  Craig,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
mountain.  The  wind  which  had  come  up  with  the  snow  had 
been  strong,  and  the  southeast  side  of  the  mountain  was  pretty 
bare.  Gil,  the  lion-hearted,  made  brave  weather  of  it  till  he 
came  to  the  shoulder  of  the  mountain  which  overlooks  Loch 
na  Craig.  But  his  feet  went  the  swifter  in  consequence  of  an 
anxiety  which  had  taken  possession  of  him. 

He  reached  the  shoulder  of  the  hill  and  looked  over  into 
the  corrie  of  Loch  na  Craig.  Then  he  sat  down  on  a  rock. 
He  saw  the  whole  horrible  disaster. 

The  snow  which  they,  looking  from  the  southeast  from  the 
windward  side  of  the  mountain,  had  seen  eddying  and  curling 
and  fuming  before  the  wind  —  which  they  had  seen  blown 
from  the  steep  side  of  the  mountain  nearest  to  them  —  had 
all  settled  down  here  in  this  corner  of  Loch  na  Craig.  All 
that  Gil  saw  before  him  was  a  vast  amphitheatre  of  smooth 
white  snow,  and  in  the  centre  a  patch  of  green  ice  about  an 
acre  in  extent.  The  sloping  sides  of  snow  represented  the 
noble  corrie,  and  the  acre  of  ice  showing  in  the  middle  was  all 
that  was  to  be  seen  of  the  five  hundred  acres  of  the  beautiful 
Loch  na  Craig. 

He  saw  that  a  terrible  disaster  had  befallen.  One  little 
farm,  near  the  head  of  a  little  glen,  he  thought  he  would  force 
his  way  to  ;  the  chimney  was  yet  showing  above  the  snow. 
Alone,  fearless  of  the  deadly  snow  sleep,  bare-legged  in  the 
freezing  snow,  he  forced  himself  to  the  door  of  that  little 
farm-house,  and,  getting  no  answer,  he  broke  it  in. 

They  were  all  dead.  The  old  folks  and  the  children  had 
died  before,  and  now  the  younger  men  and  women  had  fol 
lowed  them.  All  dead.  This  same  accident  had  happened 
before.  Corrie  ria  Craig  had  been  filled  with  snow ;  but  then 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  341 

the  huts  had  been  full  with  oatcake  and  whiskey,  and  the  peo 
ple  had  lived  to  make  a  joke  of  it.  But  now  the  peat  was 
still  smouldering  on  the  hearth,  and  Gil  found  six  of  them 
dead.  These  people  had  died  more  from  starvation  than  from 
cold,  and  there  were  three  other  families  down  by  the  loch, 
buried  fifty  feet  deep. 

Gil  called  out,  "  was  any  one  alive  ?  "  first  in  a  low  tone, 
and  afterwards,  when  not  so  scared  at  the  sound  of  his  own 
voice,  in  a  louder.  He  got  no  answer.  He  sped  away  to  the 
village,  and  told  Mr.  Monroe  and  the  MacTavish,  that  there 
were  forty  less  souls  on  the  island  to  starve. 

Austin's  fifty  pounds  had  done  good  service  at  the  begin 
ning  of  the  famine.  It  was  as  nothing  among  a  population  of 
two  thousand,  in  a  state  of  absolute  destitution,  but  still  it  was 
a  great  godsend.  Mr.  Monroe  hoped  for  all  sorts  of  things, — 
for  a  mild  winter,  —  for  Government  assistance,  — -  nay,  "  God 
forgie  him,"  for  the  death  of  the  dowager,  Mrs.  MacTavish, 
who  had  retired  to  Clapham,  near  London,  and  whose,  death 
would  put  another  £  800  a  year  at  the  MacTavish's  disposal. 
But  it  was  no  use  hoping.  Austin's  fifty  pounds  was  gone, 
and  things  got  worse  and  worse,  and  he  wrote  to  the  Mac 
Tavish  to  come  to  him  at  once. 

MacTavish  came  instantly.  He  looked  round  with  Mr. 
Monroe,  and  saw  what  a  disaster  was  impending.  He  went 
back  to  Argyleshire  at  once.  He  ordered  his  two  sons  home 
from  Cambridge,  and  told  Mrs.  MacTavish  to  do  her  duty, 
and  keep  the  creditors  at  bay,  —  to  scrimp,  save,  and  borrow 
every  farthing  she  could,  and  send  it  to  him  in  Ronaldsay. 
He  was  horribly  poor,  and  desperately  in  debt.  He  had 
taken  no  rents  from  Ronaldsay  for  years  ;  but  the  Ronaldsay 
people  were  flesh  of  his  flesh,  and  bone  of  his  bone ;  and  so 
the  great,  coarse,  bare-legged  Highland  giant  came  back  to 
them  in  their  trouble,  —  to  live  with  them,  and,  if  need  were, 
to  die  with  them. 


342  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  Our  own  people,  Monroe,  —  our  own  flesh  and  blood, 
Monroe." 

As  for  Mr.  Monroe,  he  well  earned  his  crown  of  glory  in 
this  terrible  winter,  even  if,  by  long  continuance  in  well  doing, 
he  had  not  earned  it  before.  I  know  that  what  I  have  just 
written  will  be  called  by  some  people  heretical,  but  it  shall 
stand  and  shall  be  repeated.  He  earned  his  crown  :  with  his 
hair  growing  grayer  week  by  week  ;  with  the  people  that  he 
had  loved  so  well  dying  round  him ;  with  the  souls  which  he, 
in  his  way  of  speaking,  would  have  said  that  he  had  brought 
to  Christ,  passing  away  from  him  too  quickly  for  one  word  of 
farewell,  —  that  noble  man  worked  on.  I  feel  that  I  am  un 
worthy  to  write  about  such  a  man.  But  there  are  such  men. 
If  I  did  not  know  one  or  two  of  them,  I  would  not  have  dared 
to  say  so  much  about  Mr.  Monroe. 

Let  the  glorious  fellow  be.  Let  his  works  speak  for  him. 
He  is  no  fictitious  character,  though  I  have  altered  his  name, 
and  changed  his  locality.  There  was  another  hero  developed 
in  this  miserable  winter,  by  name  Gil  Macdonald. 

His  restless  soul,  craving  eagerly  for  work,  of  which  there 
was  none  to  be  got,  settled  down,  concentrated  itself,  in  the 
work  which  Mr.  Monroe  and  the  MacTavish  put  before  him. 
By  night  and  by  day,  through  frost  and  through  snow,  he,  the 
best  hill-walker  in  the  island,  sped  swiftly  on  messages  of  help 
and  charity.  But  all  the  Gil  Macdonalds,  all  the  Mr.  Mon 
roes,  all  the  MacTavishes,  in  the  world,  could  not  send  the 
thermometer  up  above  freezing ;  and  so  the  people  died  on, 
and  despair  began  to  settle  down  on  all  of  them. 

Then  MacTavish's  money  failed.  There  had  been  little 
enough  of  it  at  first,  for  he  had  contracted  heavy  debts  to 
send  his  sons  to  Cambridge.  First,  he  heard  that  the  bailiffs 
were  in  his  castle.  Then  his  wife  wrote  to  warn  him  that 
writs  were  out  against  him,  and  that  he  might  be  taken.  Gil 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  343 

Macdonald  heard  this,  and*  merely  mentioned  it  about  among 
the  young  men  in  conversation.  They  were  dull,  heartless, 
and  desperate  enough,  these  young  men  ;  but  it  would  have 
been  a  bad  business  for  any  bailiff  who  had  tried  to  follow 
T.lacTavish  to  Ronaldsay. 

"  Our  own  flesh  and  blood,  Gil.     Our  own  flesh  and  blood." 

Things  went  on  from  bad  to  worse.  Wearily  each  night 
the  MacTavish  and  Mr.  Monroe  met,  only  to  tell  each  other 
of  some  new  disaster.  One  night  MacTavish  refused  even 
the  miserable  supper  which  he  and  Mr.  Monroe  allowed  them-  • 
selves,  and  walked  sulkily  up  and  down  the  room.  At  last  he 
broke  out.  He  threw  up  his  arms,  and  clutched  his  hair  wildly 
in  his  hands. 

"  I  will  not  bear  it,  Monroe  ;  I  will  not  bear  it." 

"  Be  quiet,  MacTavish  ;  dinna  rebel." 

"  I  tell  you  that  I  will  rebel,"  he  answered,  furiously,  doing 
exactly  as  Austin  did  on  one  occasion.  "  I  tell  you  that  I 
will  not  bear  it.  I  tell  you  that  God  is  unrighteous,  unjust, 
vindictive.  I  have  done  enough  to  deserve  his  anger,  but 
these  poor  sheep,  —  what  have  they  done  ?  " 

"  Colin,  Colin ! "  said  the  old  man,  throwing  himself  down 
before  him  and  clasping  his  bare  knees,  "  dinna  blaspheme  in 
your  wrath.  Trust  God,  and  think  that  every  wild  word 
uttered  now  will  be  a  worm  to  eat  your  heart  till  you  meet 
him." 

"  I  will  not !  There  is  no  mercy  in  heaven  !  My  own 
people  dying  like  dogs,  and  no  help.  I  tell  you  that  I  will 
curse  God  and  die ! " 

"  Ye  may  curse  God,  but  ye  '11  not  die,  my  ain  boy.  He 
will  punish  you  for  this.  He  will  let  you  live,  MacTavish,  till 
every  wild  word  you  have  uttered  just  now  will  be  a  scorn 
and  a  loathing  to  you,  till  you  see  your  folly  and  wickedness, 
and  beg  for  forgiveness." 


344  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  Words  !  words !  What  is  the  'use  of  cramming  one's  ear 
with  them  ?  I  am  hopeless  and  desperate,  I  tell  you.  What 
are  words  to  me  ?  Feed  my  people." 

"  Perhaps,  Colin,  by  a  little  patience  and  humiliation  they 
might  be  fed.  Will  you  listen  to  me  ?  " 

The  MacTavish  sat  down  and  listened,  and,  as  he  did  so,  his 
face  grew  calmer.  At  last  he  said,  "  Say  no  more,  Monroe. 
I  were  worse  than  a  dog  if  I  did  not." 

He  wrote  the  following  curious  letter  :  — 

"  Grandmother,  —  I  am  humbled.  I  am  humbled  by 
famine.  My  people  are  dying  here  like  sheep.  I  ask  for 
nothing  for  myself,  —  I  only  beg  for  them. 

"  I  ask  your  forgiveness,  certainly.  I  was  in  the  wrong,  let 
us  say.  My  pride  is  so  broken  that  I  will  allow  anything. 
You  will  gain  your  suit  about  the  farms  at  Inverhadden.  I  'm 
a  ruined  man,  and  have  no  more  money  to  spend  on  law. 

"  Send  me  a  thousand  pounds  worth  of  food  here  instantly. 
If  you  don't,  we  are  all  undone,  for  it  is  useless  asking  my 
mother.  Forgive  me  or  not,  grandmother,  but,  in  God's  name, 
save  the  Ronaldsay  folk ! 

"  MACTAVISH. 

"  To  the  dowager  Lady  Tullygoram,^  Barrock  Lodge,  Argyle- 
shire" 

To  which  Lady  Tullygoram  replied :  — 

"  Ablins,  my  ain  Colin,  we  may  both  have  been  too  tena 
cious  of  our  rights.  A  body  does  na  like  to  see  herself 
wronged  out  of  her  own  dower  rights.  The  three  Inverhad 
den  farms  have  gone  with  the  dower  lands  of  Tullygoram,  for 
sax  centuries,  and  I  was  no  justified,  in  the  interest  of  future 
dowagers,  in  giving  up  my  rights.  God  kens,  my  bonny  boy, 
I  bear  ye  no  ill  will. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  345 

"  I  send  you  twa  hundred  pounds.  With  the  help  of  God, 
I  will  keep  the  Ronaldsay  folk  for  you  till  better  times.  I 
have  cleared  the  execution  out  of  your  castle,  and  sent  the 
two  lads  back  to  their  studies.  Though  what  the  deil  garred 
ye  send  them  to  a  cockney  university,  I  dinna  ken. 

"  ELSPETH  TULLYGORAM." 

So  poor  MacTavish  was  humbled,  and  prayed  to  be  for 
given  for  the  wild  words  he  had  used  in  his  madness.  Let  us 
hope  he  was  forgiven.  Better  times-  began  to  dawn  on  them 
after  this  ;  but  things  are  not  mended  all  at  once.  When  the 
tide  is  receding,  and  shipwrecked  men,  who  have  clung  all 
night  to  the  rock,  begin  to  hope  that  the  worst  is  over,  and 
that  their  way  to  the  shore  is  safe,  often  there  comes  some 
angry  receding  wave,  and  once  more  washes  high  above  their 
heads,  and  makes  them  despair  again. 

So  it  was  with  the  Ronaldsay  famine.  The  MacTavish  de 
parted  at  the  end  of  January,  leaving  things  in  a  much  better 
state.  In  February  the  frost  broke,  and  then  the  new  enemy 
appeared,  —  typhus,  bred  by  starvation  and  hardship.  At 
first  the  people  began  dying  nearly  as  fast  as  in  the  famine ; 
then  it  got  better  and  then  it  got  worse.  Lady  Tullygoram 
and  the  MacTavish  did  all  they  could,  —  tried  to  keep  a  popu 
lation  of  two  thousand  for  a  year,  with  indifferent  success,  as 
you  may  imagine.  When  the  men  got  to  their  fishing  again, 
the  island  got  more  cheerful.  But  there  were  no  seed-pota 
toes.  The  last  money  that  Lady  Tullygoram  could  scrape 
together  was  spent  in  buying  seed-potatoes.  She  paid,  noble 
old  body !  two  hundred  and  seventy  pounds  for  them  in  Glas 
gow,  and  sent  them  off  as  fast  as  they  could  be  bought.  The 
Ronaldsay  folk  got  them  all  into  the  ground  by  the  first  week 
in  April. 

Gil  Macdonald  waited  and  saw  the  potatoes  put  in.     He 
15* 


3-16  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

saw  them  come  up,  —  they  looked  bravely.  He  waited  still 
longer,  —  everything  seemed  mending.  Then  he  started 
away,  and  came  south  to  London,  to  find  Austin. 

They  began  to  dig  in  September,  —  they  were  all  rotten 
again,  —  worse  than  last  year.  The  sun  began  to  south 
towards  another  winter  worse  than  the  last.  Lady  Tully- 
goram  had  spent  every  farthing  she  had.  The  MacTavish 
was  as  good  as  ruined ;  there  was  nothing  but  blank  despair 
before  them. 

A  Highland  Society  agent  came  over,  and  talked  to  them 
of  fair  lands  sixteen  thousand  miles  away.  Some  prepared  to 
go,  but  for  those  who  stayed  (for  only  a  few  could  go)  what  a 
prospect !  MacTavish  had  applied  for  the  Government  loan, 
but,  as  he  said,  there  was  not  the  wildest  probability  of  his 
being  able  to  set  one  man  to  work  on  the  money  before  next 
spring.  Things  looked  blacker  than  ever. 

Mr.  Monroe  preached  patience.  On  a  Sabbath  day  in 
November,  he  preached  earnestly  and  almost  fiercely  to  them. 
"  I  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  not  to  rebel.  I  tell  myself  not  to  de 
spair.  I  tell  (say  you)  the  surf  not  to  moan  on  the  reef,  — 
the  wind  not  to  whistle  through  the  heather,  —  the  burn  not 
to  roar  in  the  linn.  Still  I  tell  you  to  be  patient,  —  you, 
whose  children  have  died  before  your  eyes.  I  tell  you  to 
trust  in  God.  You  and  I  will  meet  at  his  throne,  and  then 
let  none  of  you  look  me  in  the  face,  and  say  that  I  did  not 
tell  you  this,  that  you  must  trust  in  God,  for  he  cannot  be 
unjust. 

"'  Unjust !  Is  there  one  man  or  woman  in  this  church  to-day 
who  does  not  envy  those  who  have  gone  before  us,  and  are 
waiting  to  welcome  us,  —  when  we  have  dreed  our  weird,  — 
when  we  have  done  our  day's  work,  —  when  this  tyranny  is 
overpast  ?  My  ain  people,  for  whom  I  have  wrestled  night 
and  day  in  prayer,  do  not  rebel.  The  riddle  may  whiles  be 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  347 

hard  to  read,  but  trust  God.  Do  I  pray  for  rest  ?  No.  I 
only  pray  that  I  may  be  spared  to  see  the  end.  The  wild 
winter  is  coming  down  on  us  once  more.  Let  us  pray  that 
we  may  win  through  it,  or,  if  not,  that  we  may  die  trusting 
in  God." 

So  he  pleaded  to  them  on  the  November  Sabbath ;  and  in 
the  evening,  in  solitude,  he  prayed  for  them,  —  prayed  as  he 
had  done  the  year  before,  —  that  the  cup  might  pass  away. 

On  the  Monday  morning  the  answer  to  his  prayer  came. 
Over  the  morning  sea,  across  the  Kyle,  from  the  mainland,  a 
boat  came  plunging  and  leaping  across  the  short,  chopping, 
swell,  caused  by  the  meeting  of  the  tide  and  the  south-wind. 
The  boat  came  over  with  a  mail-bag,  and  in  that  mail-bag 
there  was  only  one  letter,  and  that  letter  was  from  the  Mao 
Tavish  to  Mr.  Monroe. 

"DEAR  OLD  FRIEND, 

"  May  God  forgive  me,  if  I  have  done  wrong.  What  could 
I  do  ?  It  is  like  tearing  my  heart  out  by  the  roots.  It  is  a 
bitter,  bitter  dispensation. 

"  I  have  sold  the  island  of  Ronaldsay  to  an  Englishman.  It 
was  the  only  chance  of  saving  my  own  people  —  my  own  no 
longer  —  from  starvation. 

"  They  say  he  is  noble  and  generous.  He  is,  I  know,  very 
wealthy.  He  will,  with  his  wealth,  if  he  keeps  half  his  prom 
ises,  make  the  island  a  prosperous  and  a  happy  one.  I  have 
no  heart  left  to  say  more. 

"  Yet  I  must  go  on.  You  must  be  gentle  with  him.  You 
must  tell  the  people  to  be  gentle  and  polite  to  him.  You 
know  how  proud  and  captious  these  English  are.  Give  way 
to  his  every  whim.  If  he  is  properly  nattered,  he  may  be  in 
duced  to  settle  and  build  a  house  on  the  island,  to  do  by  the 
island  what  I,  God  forgive  me  !  have  never  been  able  to  do. 


348  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

"  He  will  be  with  you  directly,  Monroe.  Be  prepared.  Get 
him  to  settle  there.  The  pampered  Cockney  has  got  some 
whim  about  the  island.  Flatter  it.  O  God,  Monroe,  that  it 
should  have  come  to  this  !  " 

Mr.  Monroe  turned  to  the  few  old  peasants  who  were  stand 
ing  round  him,  and  said,  — 

"  Here  is  bitter  news.    The  MacTavish  has  sold  the  island." 

"  And  us  with  it,"  said  the  eldest  of  them.  "  Aweel,  things 
could  be  no  waur.  But  hech,  sirs  !  For  a  MacTavish  to  sell 
his  ain  flesh  and  blude  to  the  Duke  of  Argyle  ! " 

"  It  is  not  the  Duke  of  Argyle.     It  is  an  Englishman." 

"  It  does  na  much  matter,"  said  the  old  man,  "  that  we,  who 
beat  the  dust  out  of  their  coats  so  brawly  at  Dunbar,  should  be 
bought  up  by  them,  body  and  banes,  like  kye." 

"  Which  battle  of  Dunbar  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Mr.  Mon 
roe,  sharply.  "  You  seem  to  have  forgotten  either  the  first 
one,  or  the  one  which  we  call  Preston  Pans.  There  were  twa 
battles  by  Dunbar,  old  man.  Don't  be  a  fool.  Come  home 
with  me  ;  I  see  hope  in  this." 

So  he  did.  This  Englishman  had  money.  Englishmen 
were  noble  and  generous,  in  spite  of  their  airs  and  graces. 
So  Mr.  Monroe,  after  laying  his  head  on  the  table  and  weep 
ing,  because  the  MacTavish  was  no  longer  master  of  the  island, 
raised  his  head  and  smiled,  because  the  island  had  been  sold 
to  an  Englishman,  who  was  very  likely  an  insolent  and  ex 
acting  person,  but  who,  at  all  events,  would  take  care  that  his 
tenantry  did  not  starve  during  the  next  winter. 

Scotch  pride  is  harder  to  humble  than  even  English  pride  ; 
but  such  a  winter  as  1845  -  46  will  humble  even  a  Scotchman's 
pride. 

God  forgive  Mr.  Monroe  !  The  dear  man  went  as  near  — 
well  —  fiction,  as  any  man  should.  He  did  not  know  even 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  349 

the  name  of  this  abominable  Englishman,  but  he  represented 
him  as  a  model  of  high-hearted  generosity.  As  for  his  wealth, 
—  there,  —  Mr.  Monroe  felt  justified  by  representing  it  as 
enormous,  but  unluckily  he  launched  into  figures,  which  he 
should  not  have  done  ;  and  these  figures  grew'  under  his  hand, 
and  got  beyond  his  control  in  the  most  terrible  way.  Some 
times  he  "  harked  back,"  and  tried  to  make  them  smaller  by 
ten  thousand  a  year  or  so ;  but  the  Ronaldsay  people  did  not 
like  that ;  and  so  at  last  he  expressed  the  income  of  the  Lon 
don  shopkeeper  by  waving  his  two  hands  abroad ;  as  much  as 
to  say  that  your  figures  failed  to  express  the  immense  amount 
of  income  of  this  Cockney  shopkeeper. 

At  this  same  time  Mr.  Monroe  committed  himself  to  the 
statement,  that  the  new  owner  of  Ronaldsay  was  a  cheese 
monger,  —  and  what  was  more  awful  still,  a  cheesemonger  in 
Piccadilly.  Mr.  Monroe  denies  having  ever  said  such  a 
thing ;  but  one  morning  he  was  taxed  with  it,  and,  instead  of 
boldly  denying  the  matter  on  the  spot,  he  weakly  gave  in  to 
it,  and  prevaricated.  From  this  time  it  was  an  accepted  fact, 
that  the  island  had  been  bought  by  a  cheesemonger  in  Picca 
dilly,  which  was  a  street  in  London.  Mr.  Monroe  never 
knew  how  this  happened,  but  the  folks  were  in  a  state  of  ex 
citement,  and  he  did  not  dare  to  contradict  them.  He  went 
about  like  a  guilty  man,  —  hoping,  for  his  soul's  sake,  that 
some  one  might  have  told  him,  that  it  was  a  cheesemonger  in 
Piccadilly,  and  that  he  might  have  forgotten  it.  He  knew 
nothing  of  the  new  owner  of  Ronaldsay,  —  not  even  his  name  ; 
nothing,  save  that  he  might  be  expected  any  day ;  therefore 
this  astounding  canard  about  the  cheesemonger  was  annoying. 
His  object  was  to  prepossess  the  people  in  favor  of  the  new 
owner,  and  to  get  that  new  owner  to  stay  on  the  island.  At 
this  time  the  good  man  was  overheard  to  wish  that  that  feck 
less  billie,  Gil  Macdonald,  had  stayed  at  hame,  and  not  gone 
daundering  down  South. 


350  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

But  at  last  the  cheesemonger  from  Piccadilly  came,  and 
took  possession  of  his  property  after  this  manner :  — 

One  morning,  in  the  end  of  November,  five  or  six  days 
after  the  receipt  of  the  MacTavish's  letter,  it  was  reported  to 
him  that  a  steamer  had  rounded  the  south  point  of  Donaldsay, 
and  was  bearing  up  for  Ronaldsay.  She  carried  no  pennant. 
It  was  not  the  Shoals  and  Quicksands  Lords  coming  their 
rounds.  This  was  your  cheesemonger  coming  to  take  pos 
session. 

So  it  was.  A  small  screw  steamer  came  up,  and  eased  off 
the  pier  of  Ronaldsay.  Mr.  Monroe  tumbled  into  a  boat, 
went  on  board,  and  clambered  into  the  waist. 

Some  one  came  forward  to  receive  him,  —  Gil  Macdonald. 
No  other.  Mr.  Monroe  started  back ;  but  the  cheesemonger 
fiction  had  been  so  burnt  into  his  brain  by  repetition,  that  he 
said,  — 

"  Why,  Gil !  ye  telled  me  in  your  letter  that  ye  were  in 
the  gun-making  trade  !  —  guns  and  cheeses  ?  Is  your  master 
a  general  dealer,  then  ?  " 

He  passed  on  towards  the  cheesemonger  and  his  wife,  who 
stood  on  the  quarter-deck.  But  there  was  no  cheesemonger 
there  :  Austin  Elliot  and  his  wife  Eleanor  stood  before  him  ! 
Austin  said,  "  Dear  Mr.  Monroe,  I  am  your  new  landlord,  and 
I  am  come  to  live  and  to  die  with  you."  And  the  minister 
cast  his  hat  on  the  deck,  and  said,  "  God  has  been  very  good 
to  us,  Mr.  Elliot,  —  God  has  been  very  good  to  us." 

And  so  just  when  a  story  gets  to  be  worth  telling  it  has 
come  to  an  end.  I  have  told  you  how  Austin  Elliot,  generous 
and  ambitious,  got  fed  on  wind,  —  would  have  gone  Lord 
knows  where,  if  it  had  not  been  for  his  dog.  Now  that  he 
has  developed  into  a  useful  man,  we  must  leave  him.  The 
story  of  the  work  which  he  and  Eleanor  did  in  Ronaldsay 
would  be  but  dull  reading. 


AUSTIN  ELLIOT.  351 


Once  more  the  morning  sun  rises  behind  the  hills  of  Argyle- 
shire ;  once  more  the  summer's  morning  raises  the  peat-smoke 
from  a  thousand  cottages  in  ten  thousand  purple  valleys ;  once 
more  the  dawn  smites  the  peak  of  Ben  More  of  Ronaldsay, 
and  creeps  down,  until  the  island  awakens  and  the  men  of 
Ronaldsay  come  abroad  to  their  labor. 

But  it  shines  on  a  new  Ronaldsay  now.  On  vast  tracts 
of  young  larch  plantations,  emerald  green,  among  the  dark 
heather ;  on  broad  yellow  patches  of  soil  turned  up  on  the 
lower  hillsides,  where  they  are  trenching  the  land  for  agricul 
ture;  better  still,  on  sheets  of  rye  and  clover,  giving  good 
promise  of  a  noble  harvest.  No  more  famine,  no  more  dull, 
heart-gnawing  sorrow  in  Ronaldsay  now.  "  He  may  do  any 
thing  with  Eleanor's  money,"  said  old  Mr.  Hilton,  on  his 
death -bed,  little  dreaming  what  he  would  do  with  it,  —  little 
dreaming  that  his  ill-earned  money  would  be  spent  in  making 
the  desert  of  Ronaldsay  to  blossom  like  a  rose. 

See  the  morning  comes  lower  yet  and  lower,  until  it  shines 
strong  and  full  on  a  new  castle,  built  on  the  rise  behind  the 
village ;  on  a  broad  stone  terrace ;  on  a  little  dark  lady  who 
walks  abroad  in  the  dew  to  look  at  her  flowers,  and  leads  a 
brave  little  lad  of  three  years  old  by  the  hand. 

A  peaceful,  calm  little  lady,  dressed  all  in  gray.  She  says 
to  the  toddling  boy,  "  Come  on,  Charles ;  let  us  be  ready  to 
meet  father  as  he  comes  from  the  hill ! "  And  presently  Aus 
tin  comes  brushing  through  the  heather  towards  her,  and  takes 
his  boy  in  his  arms;  so  he  and  Eleanor  walk  slowly  home 
along  the  terrace. 

Who  are  these  aloft  here  on  the  windy  mountain  in  the 
morning  air?  A  strange  pair.  One  is  a  gigantic  man,  a 
kilted  Highlander,  with  a  square,  thoughtful  face,  who  is  lean 
ing  in  repose  against  a  rock ;  the  other  is  also  a  tall  man,  but 


352  AUSTIN  ELLIOT. 

stone  blind,  who  turns  and  feels  in  the  dark  for  his  companion, 
though  the  level  sun  is  blazing  on  his  face. 

"  And  so  ye  're  no  going  to  leave  us,  my  Lord,"  says  the 
Highlander.  "  Dinna  leave  us,  my  Lord ;  you  have  made 
yourself  a  necesssity  to  us.  I  never  flattered  any  man  born 
of  woman ;  but  I  must  say  this  much,  you  would  be  sair 
missed  in  Ronaldsay.  Why  the  bairns  would  greet  and  the 
dogs  would  howl  if  they  missed  your  kind  dark  face  at  the 
quay  end  when  the  boats  come  hame.  Dinna  gang  South,  my 
Lord,  into  that  weary  hurly-burly,  with  a'  its  Whiggeries  and 
Toryisms  and  Papistries.  Stay  with  them  that  love  you,  and 
play  on  your  bonny  new  harp." 

"  I  think  I  will  live  and  die  in  Ronaldsay,  Gil,"  said  the  blind 
man.  "  It  is  kind  of  you  to  lead  me  up  here.  I  am  looking 
towards  the  sun,  now,  for  there  is  something  in  my  eyes, 
which  I  think  must  be  light.  I  must  be  looking  towards 
those  purple  mountains  on  the  mainland  you  tell  me  of.  I 
love  to  look  towards  the  east,  Gil ;  for  the  light  which  will 
open  my  eyes,  and  show  me  the  faces  of  those  I  have  loved  so 
well,  will  come  from  thence,  on  the  morning  of  the  Resurrec 
tion." 

So  Lord  Edward  Barty  and  Gil  Macdonald  stood  on  the 
shoulder  of  Ben  More,  and  looked  eastward ;  while  Robin,  the 
dog,  sat  like  a  statue  among  the  heather  at  their  feet,  and 
looked  eastward  also.  And  so  the  whole  story  comes  to  an 
end. 


THE  END. 


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